


X Marks the Spot (and Many Other Dangers Besides)

by ForxGood, IllegalKittens, ziraseal



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F, Ghosts, Humor, Magic, Pirates, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Smut, Violence, a burn so slow that Satan is suing me for copyright infringement, art by Rootproxy, but on a boat, genderqueer holtzmann, potential dark themes, some m/f elements but f/f endgame, the West Indies, treasure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-09-24 12:22:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 84,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9726761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForxGood/pseuds/ForxGood, https://archiveofourown.org/users/IllegalKittens/pseuds/IllegalKittens, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziraseal/pseuds/ziraseal
Summary: Her ship has been scuttled. She has been captured. The pirate who holds her hostage, Doctor Crimson, is not quite who he seems. Erin, a middle-class English textile merchant trying to make a living in the Caribbean with her best friend Abigail and helmswoman Pat Tolan, must learn the ways of piracy if she's ever going to make it off of the dreaded pirate frigate, the Hallowed Falcon, alive.(There will be sword duels. There will be sea battles. There will be Kevin.)





	1. The Aphrodite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rootproxy](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Rootproxy).



 

                London didn’t have a shade of blue this exotic, and she was sure to memorize it as carefully as possible— lest she forget upon returning to the grey misery of England. The West Indies, though laced with danger, were the greatest sight she’d ever beheld, and she almost didn’t want to leave. The almost existed on account of the floating abominations. Men and women (mostly men, truth be told) who dedicated their life to rum and plunder, and sought to destroy anything more.

                Pirates.

                Erin shivered at the mere thought, desperately hoping that a tiny schooner with a load of textiles was meagre enough to dissuade the like of sea brigands. A bit of mist washed through her hair and she tasted the salt without even opening her mouth. She could understand how people made their lives on the ocean— fortunes, even. But was the danger really worth it? Was it so clever to have reservations about sailing when she was at least three months away from home?

                She shook her head and sat down on a barrel, glancing at a passing sailor who was carrying a rolling a barrel of gunpowder across the deck. Why they carried weapons was beyond her— as if they could fight off so much as a mosquito with the paltry pile of wood they called a ship. Her business partner, and best friend, Abby argued with the helmswoman, an extra hire they’d found on the Havana docks who went by Pat. Though it was absolutely uncommon to scour female sailors, the woman had an amazing history out on the water through her father’s raising of her. Pat was the only sailor that made Erin feel safe out on the water; tall, intimidating, and all muscle. She kept her head covered by a tattered red bandana that’d been her mother’s and had a number of scars on her arms that ranged in double digits.

                The Aphrodite was a nimble little vessel with solid New England timber. They’d bought the ship in a harbor in Boston for nearly half of Abby and Erin’s life savings, with the promise from the younger of the two women that it’d be an investment paying back fifty-fold.  

                “We need to go west, you crazy jackdaws. This route is loaded with rocks.”

                Abby sighed and laid a hand on the wheel, “Aye, but there’s no pirates on this route. I paid the bartender a few shillings to learn their whereabouts this week, and I don’t want to waste our priceless voyage on a scuttle we could avoid. Just do what we’re paying you to do and have no quarrel with the calm sea. It’s as simple as that.”

                “Don’t blame me if we get a hole in our hull, then,” Pat sighed, taking up the helm once more.

                Erin wandered over to the cabin of the ship, eager to parch a thirst that’d crept up. She waved for Abby to join her and held the door open for her friend. The shade of the cabin met them with a cool kiss to their heads, allowing Abby’s temper to cool off almost instantly.

                “I’ll bet I was wrong on that one,” she mused, pouring a bit of brandy for herself.

                Erin snatched the bottle out of Abby’s hands before she could fill the cup to the brim, “It’s ten in the morning, you lout.”

                She heard the sound of a drink being knocked back and swallowed, followed by a huff and a mumble of ‘that’s the perfect time to get drunk’. Five months they’d been at this, transporting light amounts of textiles from city to city across the West Indies. It was simple cash, and clean, too. They’d make no fortunes from a lack of smuggling, but they were safe and could afford their crew. That’s all Erin asked for as she saved up enough to buy a decent amount of land back home.

                There was a slight... problem, though. At least, she worried that there was one.

                A man, went by the name of Filmore, had recently sold her several crates of silk at an outrageously low price, silk she was going to take to Kingston to barter with the English (they were absolutely mad for the stuff back home). Silk! That’d set them up for at least half a dozen months! He had a nervous look about him as he haggled the cargo, and when Erin dropped the price to three hundred pieces-of-eight, Filmore instantly agreed and vanished from the dock like a fleeing fox.

                Damn, the realization hit her as she put the bottle of brandy into the cupboard. Filmore was hiding something illegal in one of the silk crates, and had thrust it upon innocent hands to cover his tracks.

                She’d simply have to toss whatever it was overboard. That’d keep them safe.

                “I’m going down to the hold,” Erin muttered.

                “Whatever for?!”

                “To check on the cargo.”

                Abby scoffed and stood from her seat at one of the dining chairs, “It’s cloth. It’s not going anywhere. You worried that the sailors have stolen it? Check their cloths— they were still wearing normal garb, same as you and I.”

                “I’m more worried about something being put into our hold.”

                “Oh, come off it! Enjoy the sunset with me, there’s supposed to be a storm tomorrow and we may not even get any sunlight!”

                Abby tugged on Erin’s wrist until they were at the bow of The Aphrodite, and Abby gave her a wink before straddling the wooden railing to get a proper seat. Erin nervously shifted from foot to foot, her mouth gaping open like a fish’s.

                “Isn’t that dangerous? What if you fall and you drown?”

                Sailors passed them by as they fixed up the rigging and tightened sails and such (Erin liked to pretend that she knew what it was they were always doing, but they’d long since banned her from touching _anything_ ). Erin eventually leaned up against the railing with both her hands tightly gripping the wood. No matter Abby’s casual attitude, she _wasn’t_ going to sink today.

                “It’s very beautiful, isn’t it? All of this.”

                They watched a large, red tropical bird fly around the edge of a nearby cliff, the sun reflecting its beautiful feathers. To be free. Erin relished in the knowledge that, so privileged was she, she was currently seeing something that thousands of people would never see in their lifetime. Maybe this was even a view that no one else had seen, as uncharted as the many local waters were.

                “I almost want to stay here, if we didn’t have family back home.”

                Abby glanced at her with a small smirk, “It’s not like you can’t come back. I want to do this for the rest of my life. It’s so peaceful out here.”

                “Would be, if it weren’t for the pirates.”

                “Aye, but they’ve no cause to attack us. We’ve nothing they can use— not even enough gold in our purses to buy the ammunition they’d waste sinking our ship.”

                Erin and Abby sat at the bow until the sun went down, though there were no childhood stories left for them to swap after four months at sea they still held a silent conversation. Such was the way of best friends. Erin was so engaged at taking in the scenery all around her that she completely forgot about the mystery related to Filmore and the cargo in the hold. It wasn’t an emergency, they would simply search through the silk when they reached Port Royal and toss whatever it was into the ocean. It could do no harm from there.

 

 

                Someone woke her up in the dead of night, repeatedly shaking her around until she had enough alertness to understand there was an emergency. It turned out that Pat was the one trying to get her attention, whispering something about some ship headed their way.

                “So what?” Erin asked, blinking in the darkness. “There are hundreds of merchant ships out here. Or it’s the Navy, there’s probably no cause for alarm.”

                “They’ve been following us for quite some ways now, Miss Gilbert.”

                Erin threw the covers back and pulled on some boots, still wearing her nightgown. She didn’t care if the crew saw her in this state, she simply wanted to go back to bed as soon as she figured out who this mystery boat was. The Aphrodite creaked and groaned as the usual swell of the ocean tilted it around, and she treaded as lightly as possible so as not to rudely awaken Abby.

                The deck could hide all manner of danger in the darkness, so she chose to tread where lanterns burned brightest, hooking her finger around a candleholder and keeping the flickering flame high up to spot messy robes lying around. But there was a fortune in hiring Pat as a helmswoman, for she kept the crew constantly organized and aware of hazards. Erin made it across the deck and towards the stern of The Aphrodite within minutes.

                “Where is this threat you speak of?” the merchant asked, hugging her nightgown closer to herself. She regretted not pulling on a coat, “I see nothing but impenetrable fog.”

                “Yonder.”

                Pat pointed near the open oceans, rather than the cliffs Erin had been staring at. The two women stood still for a moment, then tensed up as the fog revealed a mast and crimson sails for a few seconds. The mist enveloped the mystery ship once more, then seemed to float towards them, as though it had a mind of its own.

                “Go to full sail, please. Let us hasten our journey to Kingston.”

                Pat scoffed and took the wheel from a nearby sailor, “Ma’am, we cannot see the rocks or rogue flotsam in this absence of light. There’s not even a moon to ease the difficulty. We must remain at the speed we’re traveling now, or risk crashing our ship.”

                “And if that ship belongs to p... adversaries?”

                “It’s not my call to make, Miss Gilbert, but you could offer the silk as a sacrifice. Or we can try and outrun them in the morning. Else, tis simply fog and a boat with red sails.”

                When Erin glanced back at the stern of the ship, she let out a gasp, for there was neither a ship nor fog. Simply the open ocean churning and stirring behind them. She could see islands for leagues away, with not a cloud in the sky. It almost seemed as though the stars, twinkling with amusement, were taunting her for her worry.

 

 

                When the warning shot struck their mast, she and Abby were enjoying breakfast in the cabin. Erin poured herself some tea and gently took a serving of black pudding for herself from the bowl in the middle of the table. The rumblings and mumblings of the crew outside their cabin served as a pleasant background noise amidst the conversation the two merchants were having on the growing Spice Trade. Not to say that the crew had not eaten before this, but Erin and Abby had no place in the sailing of the ship and were thus more inclined to enjoy their meal and take their time.

                Erin went to grab her porcelain cup of tea again and saw the liquid inside jolt, sending little brown waves to the brim of the china. Then she heard the harsh roar as the cannon sped past and collided with the mast outside their cabin. Sailors began shouting and screaming, and even praying, and poor Pat could be heard attempting to order around the men to let out sails and speed the boat up.

                “Someone’s attacking us!” Abby hissed, hiding beneath the table.

                “You don’t say.”

                Erin crawled over to the cabin door and managed a peak before ducking down. The Aphrodite didn’t have proper canons, merely enough to clear wreckage were a path before them blocked. Perhaps they could take down a measly pirate gunboat on a lucky, but nothing of substantial size.

                “We should help!” Erin said.

                “No. No, no, no. That’s the most foolish idea you’ve ever imagined. We stay here where we’re safe. Pat’d kill us if we get in the way of our sailors.”

                “But we have to tell them to stand down! What if they fight?”

                Abby peered out of the window near the stern of the boat and let out a shaky sigh, “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem. Our sailors won’t need our command to stand down.”

                “What are you talking about?!”

                Erin crawled over to the window Abby was peeking out of. She pushed the curtains aside to get a better look and her heart nearly froze. The boat from the previous night had reappeared, crimson sails brazenly flying in the wind as it slowly swooped up behind the Aphrodite. Erin could see men running back and forth on its deck, readying grappling hooks to pull in the merchant’s ship. They meant to board The Aphrodite, rather than sink it just yet.

                “Perhaps we ought to get some gold. If we bribe them, we could get them to leave us alone,” Erin proposed.

                Abby set to work, heading towards her desk with her key and unlocking it. They were willing to trade away the rest of their life savings were the pirates to save the crew and the ship. Erin loaded a bag with as much gold as she could and tentatively headed out to the deck of The Aphrodite.

                “What are you doing out here, you dullards?!” Pat cried, sheathing her cutlass and pushing the merchant back towards the cabin, “Do you not know what that is? The Hallowed Falcon, the terror of the West Indies! There’s not a more dangerous vessel from Haiti to Africa! You might as well start swimming now, they’re like to sink our boat after they’ve had their plunderin’.”

                “T-The Hallowed Falcon? The ship that simultaneously destroyed two Spanish _man o’ wars_ a month ago?”

                “Aye,” Pat nodded.

                Erin stiffened, glancing down at her meager purse. Her life suddenly didn’t seem worth much, especially when musket shot began puncturing holes in the sails above her. Hooks latched onto the wooden railings of The Aphrodite as the Hallowed Falcon pulled in its prey. In some places, the railings were too weak and merely snapped apart under pressure— Erin cursing herself for purchasing such a meagre boat.

                And then the pirates jumped on board.

                All hell broke loose, with some of the sailors bravely attempting to fight against the pirates and a few dropping all weapons and rigging as soon as a musket were pointed in their face. Abby joined Erin at the deck with a bag of gold and observed the commotion for all of a few moments before throwing her hands up in surrender. Erin and Pat reluctantly followed suit. A boarding plank drew down upon their deck, allowing a few officers from the frigate to walk down to the Aphrodite, including a young lad of considerable muscle and a gentleman who could be none other than the Captain of the Hallowed Falcon.

                The Captain was dressed in a long crimson coat made of a thick hide, no doubt hot in the Caribbean sun, clean white trousers, and beautiful black leather boots. He had a wide brim hat with a large red feather sticking out of it, reminding Erin of the bird they’d seen yesterday evening. He was tall, and slightly muscular, though nothing compared to the lad beside him. In one hand he held a pipe filled with smoking tobacco, and in the other hand he sported a Spanish rapier made of fine steel. The Captain’s face was only a little dirty, with a few scars around his jaw and a thick blonde beard that seemed a little geometric in shape. His hair was brought back into a bun and wrapped by a black bandana, though from the few bits sticking out here and there, Erin could guess that it was blonde. He had both a dark and light look to his eyes, a look that Erin wasn’t sure she could trust.

                Meanwhile, the lad beside him was dressed almost the same as any sailor, save for the glasses perched on his nose. He had a pistol drawn but for some reason had it pointed towards the deck of The Aphrodite. Not that it mattered; there were plenty of other muskets aimed at Erin and Abby’s crew.

                It was the lad who spoke, and it was clear he spoke on the Captain’s behalf.

                “Good morning, gentlemen... oh! And ladies,” the lad nodded with respect, “I’m quartermaster Beckman, and my Captain is none other than he who is called Doctor Crimson. We’ve come to plunder your schooner in search of a treasure we know you have. Unfortunately, due to the nature of our work, we’ll have to capture you and sink your property. Rest assured, this is not a personal assault.”

                “We don’t have anything of value beyond some textiles,” Abby protested.

                “One Master Filmore sated otherwise.”

                Erin pushed forward, out of the grip of a pirate and holding up the bag she’d been harboring. Her life savings. She took a deep breath and pleaded directly to Doctor Crimson, “You can have our gold, sir, we swear we have naught else.”

                The Captain drew near to Erin, until he was practically a foot away from her face. He stared into her eyes and she felt as though he suddenly knew everything about her, every memory and embarrassment and pride and joy she’d ever experienced. In such a moment, she realized that no human had eyes quite like that, and that the stories of the Hallowed Falcon... might be true...

                One flick of his sword and the bag of gold split open in Erin’s hands, missing her fingers by mere centimeters. She was too fearful to jump in surprise as the Captain sheathed his sword and let the gold and silver pieces clatter on the wooden deck of her schooner. He turned back to quartermaster Beckman and gave a slight nod. The lad drew his sword and commanded at the pirates to take Erin, Abby, and Patty onto the Hallowed Falcon while the pirates raided The Aphrodite.

                She was thrown into a wooden cell and all was darkness henceforth.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, I'm very excited for this one. We're in this for a long haul, my queer nerds, so buckle up. Also, yes, this is based on both AC4 and Pirates of the Caribbean (although I might try to find my pirateology book from when I was a kid).
> 
> Art is by Rootproxy!!


	2. Rum-Induced Parlay

 

 

                She listened to sailors rummage around on the decks above, and watched a few of her own crew slowly shuffle into the brig. Patty was placed into the wooden cell next to her own, shouting insults at the pirates to taunt them. Erin wished that the helmswoman had more sense than that. Abby set a hand on her arm.

                “They won’t kill us. Pirates are thieves, not assassins.”

                “Make sure we’ve put all the crew below deck before the captain and I retrieve the lasses!” Beckman called down.

                Retrieve the lasses? Erin picked at her dress, unsure of what to think. They were doomed, that much was certain— but would they perchance become marooned survivors on an island, or were they to walk a plank into shark and eel infested waters. The brig was an uncomfortable mixture of dampness and heat and a salty taste that she couldn’t possibly associate with the beauty of the Caribbean Sea. She wondered if anyone had died in this very cell, were she to believe the tales surrounding the Hallowed Falcon.

                A harsh stomping broke her from her train of thought, some yells to follow as none other than the captain and his quartermaster Beckman walked into the brig hallways. Doctor Crimson’s boots splashed against the faint puddles of mud that collected in the midsection of the brig’s corridors as he slowly paced towards Erin and Abby’s cell. He held his hand out to the side and Beckman began riffling through his own pockets. He pulled out a quill and a compass and put them into Crimson’s hands, who shook his head until Beckman let out an “oop!” and riffled through his pockets once more. Finally, the dimwitted quartermaster pulled out a ring of keys and passed them to the captain.

                Crimson had not spoken a single word throughout the entire exchange of boarding and capturing her ship, thus it was little surprise that he said naught as he gently grabbed Erin’s arm and pulled her up. Beckman had a hand on Abby for all of three seconds before her glare warned him otherwise, and the quartermaster wisely decided that the textile merchant might walk unescorted. Erin felt skeptical of the hand on her arm, but not in a manner that had her feeling in danger. She simply did not know, in truth, the nature of the man whose hand touched her.

                “Where are we going?”

                Beckman bounded forth and knocked on a wooden beam. Pirates opened the hatch and Erin let sunlight hit her eyes for the first time in an hour, completely unadjusted to its glory.

                “We have some questions about your cargo.”

                Erin glanced over, realizing that her ship was still afloat. Did that mean she had a chance to persuade her way into keeping The Aphrodite?

                “We’ve already told you,” Abby interjected. “We’re god damned textile merchants!”

                Erin’s glance at her shifted to Doctor Crimson, who had a glint in his eyes at the notion of a woman swearing. The sun gave his blonde beard and hair a beautiful golden glint, and she realized that (in all honesty) he was a rather handsome man. Unfortunately, the dark circles under his eyes negated such beauty.

                The grip on her arm tightened as he steered her away from the view of The Aphrodite and towards the captain’s cabin. Beautiful stained glass windows donned the doors depicting, of all things, a typhoon wrecking a ship. Crimson had an interesting sense of positivity. Beckman, once again, surged in front of the group and held the door open, mentioning something about “ladies and doctors first”. Erin felt a little bad, letting her water-logged shoes tread on such fine carpet, but the relief of cool shade wiped all other thought from her stressed mind. Beckman pulled chairs out from the dining table and offered for them to sit (of course, since they were pirates, Erin and Abby knew that it wasn’t chivalry as much as a forceful command). She wondered, as she sat down at the table, how the captain had engineered the cabin to allow such a cool breeze to dwell within the room.

                Beckman shuffled over to a cabinet and fished out several fine glasses and a bottle of sugary rum. The captain strode towards a corner of the cabin, near a curtain. Erin craned her neck to see what he could possibly be doing and thought she heard a purr. She thought perchance he had a cat, but when he pulled the curtain back all the way and gently corralled the animal out of its bed, she realized that the man harbored an exotic panther of some sort.

                “Tis an ocelot, ma’ams,” Beckman called from the bar where he pour’d the drinks. “Captain Doctor Crimson of Hamburg rescued the beast from a shipwreck. Seemed some lobster-backs intended to ship it to England. Likely to present to some noble, or even his majesty himself.”

                “You’re German, are you?” Abby asked the captain.

                Crimson remained silent, watching as the ocelot jumped up onto the table and stalked towards Erin. She’d never seen paws so big. It stopped and stared into her eyes with its own green gaze, and Erin began staring at its stripes and spots to avoid the piercing pupils.

                “What were you hiding aboard your ship?”

                T’was the first instance in which Doctor Crimson spoke, his voice gravely but quiet. Hushed, even, as though he were sick. She wouldn’t doubt it, the bags under his eyes and the scars on his faces tossed aside any thought within Erin that he could be a healthy man. She gazed up at him and wished he hadn’t, for he held an angry look about him as though all inconveniences he’d ever experienced were her fault. As though they were enemies.

                “Silk.”

                Beckman set the glasses down on the table, giving the ocelot a ruffling rub on the head (it tolerated him). Abby was quick to take a large gulp of rum, but Erin hesitated.

                “What’s in this?”

                “Alcohol.”

                Erin’s finger rested on the stem on the glass, the pad of her thumb feeling the cool glass... vibrate a little. Her eyes shifted between Beckman and Doctor Crimson. No doubt they were dishonorable men, living as the pirates they were, and she had a notion that there was more to the drink than disclosed.

                “I’m not going to drink this if you’ve put something in it,” Erin quivered.

                Crimson sighed, rolling his eyes and drawing his sword. The metal glinted from the lone beam of light sifting through the stained-glass windows, reflecting just how sharp the blade was as it pointed into her face. Beckman spat out his drink mid sip and followed suit, though in his dimwittedness he pointed his cutlass at the feline before the captain pushed his hand slightly aside to point at Erin. It was almost a little comical, as if their lives weren’t at stake.

                “The captain wishes you to partake in the drinking,” Beckman insisted. “It’ll make this examination pass all the quicker.”             

                Erin took a deep breath and sipped the rum, sure that she was to be poisoned on the spot. As she took a sip, she could have sworn that Doctor Crimson’s eyes glowed something heavenly. But she set the cup down and peered up once more to find him looking normal as ever. Or as normal as a pirate might appear.

                “I ask again,” the gravelly voice broke the air, “What were you hiding in your ship? We’ve sought your vessel for three weeks’ time and yet when we combed through your cabin, your crew’s quarters, and your cargo, we found naught— lest the secret remain on your persons.”

                Erin found herself talking against her will, “We bought silk off a man named Filmore. He seemed sinful to me, but his deal was fantastically cheap on our end and we took it. That was in Havana, roughly a month ago. We were headed to Kingston, and I figured that his eagerness to rid himself of the goods was suspect. I plotted to riffle through our cargo and toss whatever we found overboard, but you arrived in a rather untimely manner.”

                That was... strange. Why had she suddenly burst all of that aloud? Erin glanced down at the cup, wanting additional sips as though she were an addict.

                “So, you don’t know?” Beckman asked. 

                Both men sheathed their swords when the women shook their heads. Erin took another sip and found herself asking what it was they were looking for, as though she were enjoying a pleasant tea time with friends. The more of this strange drink she consumed, the more relaxed she grew.

                The captain’s eyes appeared to glow again, if only for a moment, “A map. Filmore stole a map from us— and we kindly want it back.”

                “What does it... where does it lead?” Abby asked.

                “That’s private information.”

                “Tis a map to knowledge!” Beckman interrupted. Erin realized with a near laugh that the quartermaster had also accidentally consumed whatever drink they’d been given. Crimson sighed in an annoyed manner and snatched the lad’s glass from his hands.

                “Aye... that’s the gist of it. The crew shall be looking for treasure, though, so we’re a plundering vessel as well,” Crimson answered in his miffed tone. “Regrettably, plundering means sinking. Your ship is of no further use to us, yet you and your crew have a value we’ve yet to utilize.”

                “You... you don’t mean to dishonor us, do you?” Abby asked, fear practically pouring out of her.

                “Goodness, no,” Beckman slurred. “We may be thieves, but we’ve got a sense of standard among ourselves.”

                “You don’t have that map on your persons, do you?” Crimson interrupted.

                Both women shook their heads, “The only maps we have aboard The Aphrodite were purely for nautical purposes. I wouldn’t even know what to do with a map leading to treasure.”

                “I doubt you could read this kind of map.”

                Doctor Crimson let out a bit of a cough and his eyes widened. He leaned over and whispered something into Beckman’s ear, a fearful look donning his face. The quartermaster nodded and led himself towards the door.

                “Ladies, if you don’t mind, the captain isn’t feeling well enough to continue the rest of this interrogation. He deems you innocent of ever laying a hand on the map, and thus we are not obliged to search your persons.”

                “What are you going to do with us?” Abby asked.

                “We’ll be taking you to Kingston, where Filmore’s associates take shelter within British walls. The captain believes you were a mere false trail to throw us off.”

                “Why not let us leave on our own ship?!”

                Doctor Crimson followed them out of the cabin and laid a hand on Erin’s shoulder. He glared at her with intense blue eyes before pulling a pistol off his hip. Without a moment’s hesitation, he aimed the blunderbuss at the bow of The Aphrodite, where a pile of gunpowder barrels took shape. His icy eyes remained on her own frightful irises as he pulled the trigger— lacking all remorse.

                Erin had never in her life been in such proximity to a firearm, covering her throbbing ears after the gun fired and scrunching her eyes shut. Several colossal explosions took off across the water as a single bullet scuttled half of her life’s savings. What was left of the schooner lit aflame as it slowly tumbled into the hungry ocean. As soon as she could hear again, she managed to muster enough courage to look at him once more.

                His voice was a devil’s whisper, higher than before but scratchy and wincing, “The West Indies is no place for children. I advise you to grow up, lass, before you get yourself killed.”

               

 

                “Smith! Rogers! Send them down some blankets and food, captain’s orders! There to be our guests for another two days until we reach Kingston!” a voice called from the deck.

                Erin watched the young grunts guarding their cells slowly get up from their table and abandon the game of _schafkopf_ cards they’d been playing. The taller of the two boys (they were barely old enough to grow chin hairs) reached up and dimmed the lantern before they headed out.

                “Hey,” said the shorter boy, with a hand resting on the ladder leading to the deck, “Did ya hear the captain gave the two ladies his famous truth potion? Kevin accidentally had some as well, but that’s Kevin for ya.”

                “Oh? He’s serious about that map, I wouldn’t want to cross him lest I end up without a limb, or worse ma ship! Now get going, I want to get back to our game— I was winning!”

                “Sure ye were!”

                Erin ignored the rest of their bickering to think. A truth potion? That would almost explain the bizarre feeling she had after taking a sip of alcohol, the instant gab pouring from her lips. But alchemy was a superstition, unscientific to say the least. Surely this was another of the myths surrounding Doctor Crimson, a mysterious wielder of arcane, if you believed the legends. Regardless of mysticism, he was a pirate, and she must’ve lost all courage in that cabin to confess so readily.

                Abby was curled up in the corner, peering out the hull of the ship through a faint crack, not even big enough to suss much out besides the water and the sky. Eventually, she looked back at Erin, “I’m sorry.”

                “For what?”

                 “For pressuring you to buy a ship and sail down here. We could have made a decent living in Boston, and instead I convinced us both to come to such a dangerous region. I just lost us all our money.”

                “It’s not your fault these men have no sense of principle.”

                Abby still looked a little reluctant, but Erin always knew she was shite about cheering people up. She made a beckoning motion for Abby to join her, and wrapped an arm around her best friend’s shoulders. At least they were still alive.

                “Were the stories true?”

                A voice had spoken through the wall, and it took Erin a moment to realize that Pat the helmswoman was speaking to her. She shifted as much as Abby would allow her to speak to the cell next door;

                “About Doctor Crimson? I don’t know if he’s a demon like they say, but he’s certainly an arse.”

                She could hear Pat’s laughter, “All men are. Both our crew and his seem to think he’s a man of magic. I grew up around stories about him from my dad. Since he was a kid, he’s been terrorizing the seas, conjuring storms when fighting the Spanish and flames when fighting the British. More dangerous than Calico Jack or Edward Teach.”

                “He doesn’t appear much further than a third decade of age,” Abby said. “Not a wrinkle on his face nor a streak of grey in his hair. Why, you’re older than him, Ms. Tolan, how could you have heard those stories as a kid?”

                “That’s the thing. They say he sometimes speaks of magic that can slow down life itself. They say he’s the son of a witch, and his birth caused a typhoon! I know sailors tend to be superstitious, but everyone’s spoken of his legend for the past fifty years.”

                “Whatever he is...” Erin interrupted the both of them, “He’s taking us to Port Royal. Whatever he is... we’re going to leave him far behind and return to England. Whatever he is... as soon as I’m off this boat _I never want to hear another story about him again_.”

               

 

                The food wasn’t exactly to die for (quite the opposite, actually), and Erin wished that they’d had the decency to let her take what was left of The Aphrodite’s stores. The dry biscuits that they spared the prisoners nearly made her throw up, and the first thing she was going to do upon entering Port Royal (besides telling the guards that the frigate belonged to pirates) would be enjoying a hot meal at an inn. The water was fresh, at least, for she’d been worried that she’d find dust or bugs within the canister that the pirates handed her.

                Then there was the matter of their hosts. Yes, they were pirates, but they sang like birds and worked like decent folk. A few of the lads complained that Doctor Crimson was sailing a boring, passive route to Kingston rather than taking quarters and sinking ships, as was his usual method. They complained that the crew of The Aphrodite, and their grounds for protection via parlay, made the trip mundane.

                Let them do little more than mumble, lest Erin lose an eye because of cannon fire from a hostile ship. She wished to be off and away with danger.

                When they finally reached Palisadoes, the sandbar what protected Kingston from the open ocean, the Hallowed Falcon weighed anchor. Erin and Abby listened to the pirates running amok on the top deck, the two of them peeking through the bars of the cell to see a few sailors down in the brig, storing away their weapons. Yes, perhaps the Royal Navy was more inclined to accept you into their harbors when you didn’t flash muskets and cutlasses under their chins.

                She nearly jumped in fright when Beckman appeared, all cheeriness abounding as per usual. In his arms he held a pair of dresses. He eagerly passed one to Pat, who looked disgusted at the notion but began to strip anyways, and poked the other dress through the bars of Erin and Abby’s cell.

                “One of you chose to put that on, please,” Beckman politely commanded.

                “Why? What’s happening?”

                “Captain’s going to use one of you ladies to convince the lobster-backs that we’re merchants. And if you don’t comply n’ give us away, he’ll kill the other lass. What did he call it? Something like an investment or something.”

                Erin and Abby looked at each other in horror, their jaws dropped and their eyes wide.

               

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Tuesday! And I'll be picking up a co-author this week to help me out! Stay tuned! Art is by the wonderful Rootproxy!!
> 
> Please leave comments, I feed off that energy...


	3. Interrogation

 

Though the guards on nearby gunboats could not see it, block’d by Erin and Patty’s torsos, there was a light prick of a bayonet pointed at the base of her spine. Two pirates hid behind the wooden railing, out of sight and ready to spur on the two women to lie when the captain gave the orders. At least the dresses were fashionable, though Pat’s annoyance at having to wear such a garment need not be spoken; Erin could practically feel the anger radiating off of her.  They weren’t quite in the bay yet, not close enough for the British soldiers to identify the boat, other than the crimson sails. Erin was almost certain that they would recognize the boat on the spot, her heart beginning to quake at the mere thought of Port Royal firing cannonballs upon the ship. The king wasn’t terribly fond of pirates, after all.

 

It was almost as though the captain could read her mind. He slowly waltzed up to the spot besides the woman and cast Erin a sly grin. An unsettling grin. The sort of grin that told her… he was going to transcend the boundaries of a respectable, normal gentlemen. As though they were playing some childish game, Doctor Crimson pulled a deck of cards from his breast pocket, slapping down three random cards upon the wooden railing. He tapped the pictures on each (Erin slowly realizing that conventional Kings, Queens, and Jacks weren’t printed upon their faces) and waved his hand.

 

The stories were true; the man dabbled in witchcraft.

 

Ever so slowly, one card slowly began to dissipate into smoke. Or maybe not smoke, per se, but more of a strange fog of sorts. It wrapped around the boat so thickly that Erin couldn’t possibly make out Kingston nor Port Royal in the distance. A perfect, convenient disguise— no doubt the same magical spell that’d allowed the band of pirates to sneak up on The Aphrodite. Another card… melted. It melted upon the wooden railing, and as though it were a palette of paint. The substance splashed over the sides and changed the color of the ship from a dark mahogany (no doubt easily recognizable) to a very light beechwood. From the hull to the masts to the deck, the color of every plank of wood changed. Were she not a prisoner, were she not at the dangerous end of a musket, and were she not in the presence of the most dangerous man in the West Indies, Erin would have positively enjoyed the magic unfolding before her eyes. The final card stretched, flying into the air like a bird. She watched as the rigging of the frigate untied itself, the crimson sails dropping to the deck where eager pirates collected and folded them up. The card transformed into large, clean white sails that unrolled and rigged themselves without the touch of a single sailor’s hands. How marvelous! One might never need hire another workman again with this sort of efficiency!

 

Naught ado, Doctor Crimson carefully stuffed the deck of cards back into his breast pocket. He threw a wink Erin’s way, which she pointedly ignored.

 

The gunboats and schooners surrounding them were none the wiser.

 

Thus the fog dissolved and away was the Hallowed Falcon. Now, the ship she stood on bore a respectable, inconspicuous name of Stonebrook, with clean white sails and not a blag flag in sight. The helmsman began navigating the frigate through the Kingston bay and towards the docks, the bayonet pointed at Erin’s hip becoming more and more prominent. She stood as straight as she could and threw a pleading look to Crimson.

 

“We’re sugar merchants from Saint-Domingue, our boat is from Wales, and you’re the wives of the two men who own this vessel; they’re below deck with sea-sickness, as they usually spend most of their time on the plantation rather than on the ocean,” the captain muttered, before strolling away and out of sight. “Bribe the guards if you have to, Beckman will give you some coin. Screw up, and your partner dies.”

 

Pat shot him a look of contempt, but Erin took a deep breath and prepared what charisma she could muster. If nothing else, her parents had taught her how to charm and wallow to get where she needed to in life. This wouldn’t be too hard… this wouldn’t be too hard… this wouldn’t be…

 

She made the mistake of glancing at the captain’s cabin, where the door stood slightly ajar. Doctor Crimson had a knife resting on Abigail’s shoulders should Erin decide to whisper the truth to the guards. Erin had no doubt that her best friend’s life would remain in danger for the extent of time the pirates chose to remain in Kingston, though hopefully he would release all the women and the crew of the Aphrodite upon embarking to wherever they journeyed next. There was a hint of regret in Crimson’s eyes, as though he didn’t want to hold a knife to Abby’s throat, yet he would carry out the action regardless if Erin’s lips slipped. Of all emotions Abby might possess, she beheld that of determination, as though her skin were made of steel and Crimson’s knife were made of wood. 

 

Erin could never assemble that sort of courage.

 

Eventually, the helmsman steered the “Stonebrook” parallel to a dock, some pirates lowered a ramp, and two ruffled looking British soldiers sauntered onto the deck of the ship. Judging by his stumbling around and glancing at every nook and cranny of the Hallowed Falcon in awe, the younger and clean shaven one of the two guards was drunk. The older soldier sported a salt and pepper beard, ill-matching his staunch white wig (the kind that all soldiers had). Their uniforms were clean but ruffled, likely having been worn every single day since both men had signed up for the military. Erin noted the small bullet hole in the older guard’s thigh, and how he walked with a slight limp. His eyes were awfully cold, and Pat set a hand on Erin’s shoulder to calm her from the unnerving stare that the older guard projected.

 

“So I’m supposed to believe that you two ladies own and operate this ship, is that it?” the older guard asked.

 

“Ye didnae ask for their names first. Tis only polite,” the younger guard slurred.

 

Patty stiffened, “Our husbands are both down below with seasickness. We’re from Saint-Domingue with a hold full of sugar for trading.”

 

“Oh, I’ll bet you’re full of sugar,” the older guard said, his eyes dipping down both their shirts.

 

If her best friend’s life weren’t on the line (along with her own), Erin would have smacked the sleazy guard so hard that he’d topple over the side of the ship. Men tested her patience every day, but this was utterly barbaric. She glanced at Crimson, who looked slightly sympathetic despite hiding behind a door and brandishing a weapon. He gave her a shrug as if to say “what do you expect me to do about it?” and Erin merely rolled her eyes at him. 

 

“Please sir, we’re tired and in need of rest. Our crew is hungry and thirsty, in need of women, too. Perchance you’d enjoy a few extra coins to spend on drink tonight?”

 

This perked up the younger guard, who seemed eager to stomp back into the nearest tavern. He gave Erin and Pat a haphazard attempt of a smile, teeth rotted enough to fall out with the lightest hit and his top lip quivering something ridiculous. 

 

But the older guard didn’t seem to fall for their deception so quickly. He leaned in, close enough for Erin to smell some awful eau de cologne that gave off the impression that someone had distilled it from swamp water. His eyes were a dark green, something sickly and foul with a hint of yellow where there ought be a healthy white. He smiled a little and tilted his head ever so slightly back.

 

“I would hope you ladies are telling the truth.”

 

Pat nodded, “We would hope so, too, if we were in your boots.”

 

“Oh, come off it, Smith!” the younger guard said. “These very, very wonderful ladies are just trying to earn a living! Whys you always gotta go and spoil the day of the common man and woman?!”

 

“We’ve heard some troubling rumors about a pirate ship sinking a merchant schooner a few leagues north of here. It would seem that the local waters are becoming more and more dangerous each day.”

“Yes, sir,” Erin nodded.

 

Smith leaned in ever so slightly, “Which is why your ship is outfitted with so many cannons, no? Or why your crew members all carry cutlasses and machetes on them?”

 

“The plantations are raided quite frequently, sir. We do the best to defend ourselves with what we’ve got,” her voice spoke before her brain could complete the sentence. Her throat produced a mousy sound that Erin wondered if it was regular or not. Did she sound that small all the time?

 

“And were I to wander below deck, I’d find naught but sugar?”

 

“Perhaps a bit of rum for the sailors, sir,” Pat answered.

 

Smith’ gave them the stink-eye for another minute before accepting the bag of gold that a sailor was holding for him, turning and shoving the young soldier to walk down the railing and continue patrolling the dock. His companion nearly tripped over a cleat, almost tumbling into the sky blue water below (in his drunken state, Erin doubted he’d survive even the shallowest of swims). Erin let the smallest of sighs escape through her nose and glanced back at Doctor Crimson and Abby. The captain gently let her best friend go and sheathed the knife into his belt. He swung the cabin door wide open and smiled.

 

“Congratulations. You’re a good enough liar to not get us killed.”

 

Erin folded her arms across her chest while Pat demanded a return to her usual attire. Abby quickly slid up beside her and gripped her arm with a pale hand.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

There was a faint line on Abby’s neck from where the knife had pressed in, but even now it was fading, and the textile merchant shrugged the mark off as though it were nothing. Her hands were bound by shackles beneath the jacket that Doctor Crimson had placed over her shoulders, and Erin wanted nothing more than to dangle the man over the side of his own ship until he coughed up the key. Thankfully, Beckman seemed to read her mind.

 

“Oh, you’ll be wanting to move freely, I suppose.”

 

It took the quartermaster a good three minutes to unlock the shackles, as he kept trying to fit the key in upside down. Erin’s patience broke and she snatched the key from him. As soon as Abby was free, she rubbed her hands with a frown.

 

“A little unnecessary, isn’t he?”

 

Erin nodded, “Dramatic to say the least. I do hope he lets me keep the dress, though. It is rather eloquent.”

 

“Probably stole it off a body.”

 

“Oh… oh goodness! Do you really think so?!”

 

“I’m kidding, Erin.”

 

 

 

 

About an hour or so later, the crew had secured the boat and were unloading a small amount of cargo to pass for merchandise. Kevin politely explained that there were plenty of black market individuals who acted as cover for pirates and pretended to purchase goods so as to lead the Navy astray. Not that these women could tell a pirate from a privateer. Unsure if they were free or not, Erin approached Doctor Crimson with her eyes glued to the deck.

 

“P-pardon, sir… but the other ladies and I were wondering if we were allowed to go now…”

 

The captain glanced at her for a moment, then shook his head, “I’m afraid I have to take you with me, Miss… what was your name again?”

 

“Gilbert. Erin Gilbert.”

 

“Well, Ms. Gilbert Erin Gilbert, I apologize for this inconvenience, to say nothing of the fright my men must give you, but I need your help yet again. You were the one to strike a deal with Master Filmore, and thus are more inclined to recognize his associates. One Thomas Shanks, in particular.”

 

“Yes. Yes, I do remember a Mr. Shanks. He was Master Filmore’s bookkeeper. If I identify him, will you let me and my friends go?”

 

Doctor Crimson took a deep breath, “Very well. But you cannot give me away, else my crew could be compromised. And you’d be associated with piracy, not kindly taken to in this town.”

 

To prove his point, Crimson pointed at a cage dangling from an exceptionally tall post. Inside was a skeleton, stripped of flesh and soul. What was left of his clothes seemed to suggest he’d been rotting there for at least a year. Beneath the bones read a sign, “Pirates Beware”, causing Erin to shiver in fear. Being cramped in a cage like that would be awfully boring. She glanced at Crimson and nodded;

 

“I won’t speak a stitch to any guard or citizen. You have my word.”

Satisfied with her sincerity, the captain beckoned for her to follow, telling the crew to keep Abigail and Pat on board and provide them with food and drink until the two of them returned. Erin supposed that this was another of his “investments” to keep her from running. As thought she’d abandon Abby, or even Pat at this point. To say nothing of her crew. She hiked her dress up ever so slightly to step over the wooden railing and followed Doctor Crimson through the docks. From drunken sailors to finecky merchants to harbor prostitutes blowing kisses at Crimson, the traffic of the shipyards felt like she were wading through livestock. She even had to tread very carefully over a pile of sleeping pigs as she attempted to keep up with the captain (who kept at a pace as though he were ignoring the chaos around him). 

 

Doctor Crimson strode forth and let the tails of his coat fly behind him in the wind, a few strands of blonde hair wisping around as well. His hands were clasped behind his back, though Erin could tell from the light tension in his muscles that he would be able to whip out a weapon were a lobsterback to charge at him for being a pirate. A few of the local sea biscuits gave him a nod here and there, and Erin even caught a whisper of someone mentioning his mysterious age. Now that she’d seen the magic for real, she wondered just how many rumors about him were true.

 

Kingston wasn’t nearly as colorful as the dyed stucco and clay apartments of Havana— with their lovely tile roofs that musically clattered whenever children climbed upon them. This British based city was primarily fashioned out of stone and wood, using the architecture you’d find anywhere in London — and were it not for the jungle looming around its borders, she would have insisted that this city stood out no more than any other town in England. She supposed there was more sunlight. Lots more sunlight than she’d ever seen in her entire lifetime in Great Britain, really. Lazy palm trees drooped over their heads, providing shade to weary servants and slaves, mischievous children, and the occasional guard. It seemed that all trees within the city borders were stripped of fruit, implying that there was indeed some population of people too poor to buy their food, resorting to climbing the palms in the middle of the night to sustain themselves. It was then that she realized how fiercely merchants guarded the food they sold, even though there was an abundance of crops to be found in the West Indies. She supposed that before the British and Spanish explorers arrived, people didn’t go hungry because there was naught a white European king to tell them they couldn’t eat.

 

No wonder people took to piracy so readily. 

 

They stopped near the markets, and Crimson’s hand gently rested on her arm. He glanced at the stands and said, “Do you recognize any of those textile merchants?”

 

“Mulgrave Jr., but he’s the one who set up trading connections for Abigail and I. An innocent enough fellow. If you’re referring to Filmore’s men, I don’t see them. They used an insignia, though. It was that of an angel. He had one carved into the door of his shop when I went to purchase goods from him.”

 

“You mean like that one?” the captain pointed at a stand nearest a tavern.

 

The symbol was, sure enough, the same insignia, yet there was more to the stand than met the eye. Erin squinted, slowly moving closer to the merchant’s space. He seemed innocent enough, haggling prices of fine linens to servants and wives as his associate smoked on a pipe while sitting atop a nearby barrel. It took her a few moments, but she recognized the sitting merchant as Shanks.

 

“That’s him, right there.”

 

“Good. We’ll wait for them to pack up and return to wherever it is that rats like him scurry, follow him there, and persuade him to tell us of Filmore’s location. I suspect this lovely rascal shall lead us to a warehouse filled with contraband similar to that Filmore sold you..”

 

Erin scoffed, “Sneaking around and partaking in dishonorable acts? You don’t even try very hard to avoid the fact that you’re astray from the King’s Law.”

 

“He’s not my king,” the german man retorted with a smile.

 

A few houses away from the markets, he pinned her against the wall very quickly and covered her mouth with his hand, peering around the corner for the merchant slowly meandering down an alleyway. Were she not aware of the situation, Erin would be both terrified… and… she tried not to think about the captain’s immense biceps so close to her face. Eventually, Crimson ducked back and made eye contact with her, releasing his hand.

 

“He’s gone inside that warehouse, just across the lawn. We could either sneak around or chance a direct approach.”

 

“A d-direct approach?” Erin squeaked.

 

The captain gently took his hat off his head, allowing some blond hair to spill out over the top of his bandana. He pressed the accessory into the textile merchant’s reluctant hands, smiling with charisma.

 

“Be a dear and hold this for me.”

 

With that, Doctor Crimson left their hiding spot from behind the wall and motioned for her to follow. They strode across the lawn (well, Crimson strode and Erin stumbled over the frilly edges of her dress to keep up). In one swift motion, the pirate pinned the guard of the warehouse to the wooden wall, the poor man’s bald head smacking against a splintery panel.

 

“W-what do you want?! Please, I have a wife and daughter!”

 

Erin covered her mouth in fear as Crimson quietly requested the key to the warehouse. A low enough voice and drawn out words of threat were enough to scare most men. The guard claimed it was in his pocket, prompting the pirate to firmly grip his throat until the innocent man was unconscious. Crimson fished the key out and gently carried the guard to a hiding spot behind some barrels.

 

“Did you have to do that?”

 

Doctor Crimson tossed the key into the air and caught it with a smug expression, “He might’ve gone running to the guards. You really have to work on your handling of underground situations such as this one you find yourself in now.”

 

“It’s not my fault I thought Filmore was a respectable gentlemen,” Erin pointed out.

 

This caused the pirate to laugh, “There’s not a man in this world who fits that description.”

 

He fit the key into the lock and turned it ever so slowly, that the click was almost indistinguishable from the sounds of the city around them. He pulled the door ajar and whispered  _ ‘ladies first’ _ . Erin was sure to accidentally step on his toes as she slipped into the building. She also smacked his hat into his torso, and he gave her a fake look of pain.

 

It was almost playful quarrelling, were he not her captor. 

 

They made it past a pyramid of cargo before they were spotted by Shanks. He seemed a little fearful, though who wouldn’t be in the presence of one as menacing as the pirate captain Doctor Crimson, who’s… was his coat really smoking for dramatic effect? He had lit his pipe as well, having snuck the thing in his pocket, and was casually fiddling with the pistol on his belt as he approached Thomas Shanks.

 

“Ah… if it isn’t… Mister Higgins and… oh, the textile merchant who purchased the silk from us in Havana… Mrs. Gilbert, was it?” the associate nervously stammered.

 

“And you’re known as Mr. Shanks?” Crimson asked, puffing on his pipe.

 

“Yes, sir! Before you kill me, I’m just an errand boy for Master Filmore! I swear! I didn’t know he was going to try and sell the maps that he stole from you! I didn’t even know what the maps looked like! I didn’t even know they were maps! I didn’t even know he stole! He’s planning to leave on his boat, the Columbia. You could still chase him down if you hurried! He’s going to do a little trading in Nassau before heading towards the French territory.”

 

Doctor Crimson leaned forwards with his pistol lazily drawn and his breath full of tobacco smoke, “Why should I believe you?”

 

“Because you’ve got nothing to gain from killing him?” Erin piped up.

 

“Exactly, sir! Please listen to the lass, I beg you!”

 

The pirate captain shot her a look that plainly said  _ ‘you’re not very good at intimidating interrogation, are you?’ _ . As he began whispering menacing sentences in angry German to the quivering merchant, Erin riffled through the fine goods that Filmore kept in his Kingston warehouse. Her hand hovered over a particularly beautiful pocketwatch (made of pure New World silver) depicting a viking on its shell before she turned back to Doctor Crimson standing over Thomas Shanks with a boot on the man’s chest. The blonde sailor stuffed his pistol back into his belt and dumped the contents of the pipe on Shank’s dusty jacket. Poor Shank, he’d gone nearly unconscious from fear!

 

“Thank you ever so much for your help Mr. Shanks. You’d best be telling the truth, for I’d terribly hate to have to return to this desolate place on your behalf.”

 

“Y-Yes, sir.”

 

Doctor Crimson promptly turned on the ball of his foot and snatched up the silver pocketwatch that Erin had been admiring, tucking it into the pocket of her dress and giving it a light pat. He then held out his elbow as though he were some gentlemen and not a occultist brute that had scared a merchant into pissing himself. Erin scoffed and showed herself out of the warehouse.

 

Unfortunately, that was the moment that a small fleet of rogue Privateers had begun attacking Kingston.

 

 

  


  
  


 

Crimson had enough sense to push the both of them to the ground. Erin would normally be absolutely furious when a man had forced his body to lay upon her own, but that body in question was protecting her from cannonfire as buildings around her erupted into volcanoes of brick and wood. Citizens and soldiers alike were screaming as the chaos only escalated. The pirate had his leather coat slightly covered over both their heads to protect from stones flying in from all directions.

 

“Who’s attacking the town?”

 

Crimson glanced over a broken portion of picket fence at the harbor, “You know it’s rude to assume that all pirates know each other, young lady.”

 

“Do you?”

 

“That’s beside the point,” the captain said, waggling a finger in her direction. “Follow me, we’ll make it safely back to the ship if we veer towards that edge of town.”

 

“Why that direction?” Erin asked over the cacophony.

 

“Because the fort is that way, and therefore where the ships cannons are aimed,” Crimson pointed at Port Royal, beginning to return fire to the trio of Privateer brigs that’d entered the harbor. “Those chaps are likely paid by Spanish soldiers to attack this town. That’s the only way either King can piss off the other without outright declaring war. Mercenaries aren’t the King’s soldiers, per se.”

 

Erin followed the captain behind an inn, where a few people were already rushing to drink one last pint before their deaths. She wanted to join them, but stuck close to Crimson like sealing wax on an envelope. 

 

“Can we escape the… Privateers?”

 

“Well… the Stonebrook couldn’t hope to light a match, so mediocre is its firepower. But if we were to… say… reveal that our ship is the Hallowed Falcon… we might part the sea in fear,” Crimson smirked. “It’s good to be the King, lass.”

 

She smacked him upside the head, “You mean to reveal your ship, the most wanted vessel in the West Indies, in close proximity to Port Royal. Did you not warn me two hours ago of the dangers of pirates being discovered?!”

 

“Ah, but I’m not just a pirate, lass. I’m a madman as well.”

 

Before she could initiate any further conversation, Crimson snatched her wrist and dragged her along, weaving through burning market stands and once more through the chaotic docks. Soldiers and sailors alike were rushing to form a counter attack to the insane, attacking Privateers. Eventually, there was too much traffic to push through; their path blocked by an abundance of humanity.

 

“Hold on tightly,” the captain whispered, his lips almost brushing her ears.

 

Erin wasn’t sure what he meant, but knew that around a man like Doctor Crimson, the necessity arose to act quickly to insure your survival. She gripped his coat like a desperate lover, and he wrapped a muscular arm around her waist. His free hand shot out and glowed a brilliant evergreen— and they  _ flew _ . They glided like one of Mr. Shakespeare’s fairies over the panicky crowd  _ too busy to even notice the miracles above their heads! _ She let out a smile and a gasp and perhaps even a tear (twas the second true sighting of magic she’d ever had the privilege to behold, after all).  

 

Doctor Crimson gently landed on the bowsprit of his ship, still holding tightly to a giggling Erin Gilbert. She was absolutely enamored with the aura of magic surrounding them, and didn’t even think of his piracy for a whole four minutes as the captain began barking orders at his crew. What’s more, the previous magic that’d spun a convincing tale of this vessel’s innocence began to wane, and the Stonebrook slowly… melted into the Hallowed Falcon. The paint seemingly washed off to its original mahogany, the maroon sails unfolded themselves and replaced the boring white cloth, and a pristine black flag flew onto the mast of its own accord. The crew brought out their weapons from the cargo bay and brandished them with glee at the thought of returning to the open ocean.

 

And this time, when the captain gave her a wink, she laughed and smiled in wonder.

 

“You may be a corrupt scoundrel, Mr. Crimson, but you have a marvelous gift, truth be told.”

 

Perfectly balanced, he walked down the wooden beam towards the deck of his prized frigate, setting her down near a cannon and snapping his fingers to signify to his crew of the Hallowed Falcon’s immediate departure. Soldiers and sailors began panicking as they realized that they were in the company of a true danger (as though the Privateers had been a plaything). Even in the sunlight’s harsh glint, Erin could make out a terrific smirk on the captain's face.

 

“It’s Doctor, lass. I like to think I’ve earned that title.”

 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a new format to the writing because Forxgood and I are using Google Docs now instead of just me on microsoft word. On another note, things are becoming interesting, aren't they? Art is by Rootproxy, as always.
> 
> Leave comments!


	4. Flintlock Trust

They made it fifty leagues before Erin realized what was wrong. She was still on a pirate ship, chasing after a scoundrel of a merchant, no more liberated than a prisoner of war, and subject to the decisions of an infamous pirate. Yet she was having the time of her life, observing the dreaded Doctor Crimson barking orders at his crew and laughing like a maniac while they tripped over themselves to operate the ship.

 

“You were to leave us in Kingston!” Abby protested, over the shrieking and crashing of the ocean waves.

 

Crimson took the helm and steered the frigate into a tack, “That was before Kingston was set upon by the Spanish’s lapdogs, destroying anything in sight! Mind you, I’ve nothing against privateers, but I ‘spect they swap sides depending on which country offers more gold each year.”

 

“Whereas pirates shoot whoever they want of their own free will?” Pat asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Aye.”

 

Abby set her hands on her hips, “But why couldn’t you simply just liberate us upon arriving in Kingston? What did we do to deserve this imprisonment for so long? You’ve exhausted our usefulness and now we’re to simply sit in prison cells until you deem our sentence served?”

 

“Of course not. I’ll have my men make a room for you in the hold,” Crimson nodded, snapping his fingers in Kevin’s direction. “And you’re free to walk on the deck until we reach wherever it is the Columbia docks.”

 

They’d been following Filmore’s ship all morning, after executing the captain’s plan to flee Kingston by eliciting true fear and subsequently parting the blockade of ships meant to counter the attacking brigs. Perhaps a small amount of musket shot had been exchanged between the boats as Crimson ordered the pirates to full sail, but they were relatively unharmed. The excitement of the chase had distracted them from the danger of upsetting the British Navy. And now, when the Columbia was still a speck on the horizon and the pirates kept their speaking to a hushed volume as they professionally sailed, the chaos ebb’d and the reality sunk into their hearts like a brick.

 

“And what of our crew?” Erin wondered aloud.

 

Crimson shrugged and pointed, they followed his finger to realize with a start that the very sailors that they’d hired to operate The Aphrodite were tying the lines and cleaning the decks and climbing the netting of the Hallowed Falcon. Familiar faces were mingling with the other pirates, and they seemed at home on the very ship that’d scuttled their last employer. They refused to make eye contact with any of the women; perhaps out of pride, perhaps out of shame.

 

“Rest assured, they’re being paid a fair wage.”

 

Abby clenched her teeth but straightened her posture, “It is good to know that man is a loyal beast. Perhaps, if I ever have another boat, I’ll hire a crew entirely comprised of women.”

 

“That’d be a sight to see,” Crimson smiled.

 

“And how are we to know that you will release us? What is our guarantee? We might as well jump overboard now, and safeguard our bodies, mind, and soul from pirates such as ye,” Pat pointed out, leaning against the railing of the stern. She had on her sailors outfit, and Erin wondered if she’d taken to burning the dress that the captain had forced her to wear.

 

Crimson sighed in defeat, perhaps upset that the women didn’t trust his word. But they had dozens of reasons not to, and the look in his eyes suggested that he knew as much. As the helmsman took over for him, he pulled out his pistol and all three women backed away in fear— unsure if he’d gone mad or impatient or whatever it is in men that causes them to kill women. But then he flipped the gun around and held it by the barrel as he presented it to Erin.

 

“My finest pistol. If I break my promise to release you safely, you may use it against me, Ms. Gilbert. I may have lived for many a year more than most men upon these mysterious waters, but I vow a single shot would wound me to your satisfaction.”

 

 

Erin took the weapon in her hands, feeling it’s weight and intricate detail— both in woodworking and the delicate welds of metal. She wondered if there were even any bullets or gunpowder contained within, or perhaps Doctor Crimson was bluffing (she wouldn’t be surprised). Yet Erin held the weapon thus far, without faint or cause to fire it.

 

“Tis hardly much of a gift for one of ladylike stature.”

 

Crimson smirked at this, “I cannot concur. Perchance weapons were distributed to women more liberally, the world would certainly grow in efficiency.”

 

“I wouldn’t even know how to use this,” she sighed, pointing it at the pirate.

 

Though he saw that the flintlock was not cocked (and therefore would likely not go off), the captain held up his hands in mock surrender, “Spare my life, good madam, and I might show you how to fire it. You’d rain lightning and thunder upon your enemies, you would.”

 

“I prefer the life of a civilized lady, thank you.”

 

She lowered the pistol, unsure of what to do with it. Doctor Crimson smiled and undid one of the many scarves tied at his waist, slowly draping it around her and tying it at her waist. Erin could then set the flintlock at her side. She glanced up at him.

 

“You’re going to want this back, aren’t you?”

 

The captain smiled, and Erin winced a little at the state of his teeth (though all pirates’ futures looked a little grim when it came to dentistry). He gently bowed and told the ladies that they could do what they wished upon the deck so long as they left the soldiers be. Erin certainly felt a little more controlled with a pistol at her side, even if she didn’t know how to use it. What looks the other pirates had made (both in hunger and curiosity) stopped the moment she rested her hand on the hilt of the weapon.

 

It made her feel respected.

 

And so Erin Gilbert began to think, the frigate beneath her feet crashing against the waves of the open ocean. She daydreamed of what a pirate’s life might truly be like; to live without cares or responsibility or taxes. To flee from the King’s men or fight daring battles against sea monsters. To drink all day and go from woman to woman (or man to man, in her case… yes, she quite liked the thought of that). Of sailing itself; pulling ropes all day until your hands hurt, navigating a vehicle three times the size of her parent’s house in London, or perhaps voyaging based on the position of the stars themselves. Climbing up to the crow’s nest just to spot what little scrap of land they might stumble upon next.

 

How that seemed so much more exciting than her life as a merchant! Why sit around and haggle with boring old men about the price of silk when she could draw sword and take the cargo herself?! Discovering new islands and naming them after herself and her friends, or conquering forts and giving the Brits and Spaniards slaps on the wrists.

 

To say nothing of treasure.

 

It wasn’t as though Erin Gilbert was of mind to build a fortune for herself, with palaces of pure gold and jewels spilling from piles she stood upon. Fresh food rich with flavor on the tip of her tongue whenever she desired, and aged Italian wines guzzled down her throat— all while throwing on parties with friends made at sea. She didn’t necessarily _need_ all that. But the prospect of having enough to buy a decent place to live that kept in the heat and protected her from rats… Erin had worried a merchant’s life would not yield such fruits.

 

The ocean breeze whipped her straggly hair around and she neared the edge of the frigate to get a better feel of the mist flowing around. She closed her eyes as flecks of the ocean sprayed onto her skin and hair, the cool water countering the hot West Indies sun.

 

“Do you think he’ll keep his word?”

 

“A pirate?” Abby smirked, “You truly believe he is to live up to expectations set by textile merchants? Erin Gilbert, surely you have more common sense than that. I doubt this pistol could produce noise, much less bullet.”

 

“What choice do we have?” Erin asked as she picked at a splinter, “We could jump overboard and swim to the nearest island?”

 

“Filled with iguanas and jaguars? Ancient traps made by the Lucayans or poisonous spiders yet to be discovered by man?” Abigail grumbled, “Perhaps even more pirates or heavens forbid another, equally magical lord of the seas?”

 

“It was just a thought,” the merchant said. “If we _do_ die, I’m holding you accountable.”

 

 

The next day, she took tentative steps across a freshly swabbed deck, tip-toeing around a young deckhand who gave her a bit of a look when she stepped too close to his mop. Life bustled all around her, and she realized with a start that Pat was helping out with the rigging at the stern ( _“Make no mistake, ma’ams, I’m still loyal to the two of you. I just figured they’d appreciate my helping out”_ ). Her helmswoman did everything from climbing to lifting to cleaning weaponry, and it made Erin wonder just how many sailors turned to piracy like it was nothing. Not that Pat had, of course, but aside from a lack of morality the basics of taming the sea didn’t seem to differentiate between the two professions.

 

It was almost noon when quartermaster Beckman approached her, his face smiling and giving her a low bow.

 

“Me captain graciously extends an offer to yonder Ms. Gilbert, cordially inviting her to lunch in his cabin. Madams Yates and Tolan are additionally invited.”

 

Erin folded her arms, “Is said captain expecting fancy dresses and manners to accompany the women?”

 

“Not at all, madam,” Beckman smiled. “Me captain would still host the finest of parties for women in rags if they so pleased. I can arrange that if you find yourself wanting.”

 

“That won’t be necessary. I can show myself to his _majesty’s_ cabin.”

 

The textile merchant hopped off the barrel she’d been perch’d upon and wandered across the deck of the ship, nearly screaming when the pirates to the left of her test fired a cannon. She elected to keep her cool as soon as the ringing in her ears subsided, smoothing out her chemise and wrinkling her nose at the smell of gunpowder. A few of the pirates graciously stepped out of the way for her to pass, and she began to wonder if her little dance with the Navy officers in Kingston had earned their respect. A few of them were handsome, but Erin reminded herself that she’d be away and done with these pirates within a day. Two at the most.

 

Abby and Pat were waiting for her at the door to the captain’s cabin, Abigail in a nice pink dress and Pat in her sailor’s garb. Both of them looked a little nervous, fidgeting and bouncing a little on the balls of their feet. Erin rested her knuckles on the class of the cabin door for a moment, glancing at Abby with uncertainty. Her best friend merely shrugged, prompting Erin to take a deep breath before rapping her hand on the window.

 

“Enter,” the german accent called out.

 

Erin pulled the door open and allowed the other ladies to enter before her. She let the cool air of the cabin wrap around her and dissipate the hot Caribbean heat, spotting a rune carved into the wall that emitted a frosty mist. She pressed the back of her hand against it and felt none other than the bite winter’s ice against her skin—  such astonishing magic! Crimson himself was sitting at a table, petting the ocelot resting in his lap. The pirate who worked as the ship’s cook sat down a few platters of food and bowed towards both the captain and the ladies before quickly excusing himself.

 

“Please, join me, won’t you?” Crimson smiled. “I don’t bite.”

 

“That’s a bit of a lie,” Abby grumbled (still a little touchy about being used as an ‘investment’ during yesterday’s smuggle into Kingston).

 

“Ah, well, I can assure you that I’ve reserved an honorable personality just for you ladies. You are my guests, and what host would I be without offering all comforts within my realm?”

 

“Guests?! We’re your captives!”

 

The captain shrugged, “Such a technicality. You’re to go free in a little while, my navigator has tracked Filmore’s course to Nassau. There’s naught a freer place in the whole world than the City of Pirates. Unless you’d rather swim the way?”

 

Pat was the first to sit, “Come on, madams, if he is to kill us, why shouldn’t we at least get a meal out of it?”

 

“Madam Gilbert still carries her pistol, I presume? If Ms. Yates still has reservations, she might be the one to carry the firearm— to ease her worries?” Crimson suggested. “Or… I could leave, and you may enjoy lunch between the three of you. Tis a sin to bring fear to a mealtime.”

 

It seemed he knew her weakness; if one wished to rile Abigail, all they needed to do was to simply test her bravery. She sat down at the table and forced a smile, filling a plate with food and taking a long sip of wine from a nearby glass.

 

“I’m afraid that I’m a terrible shot, Mr. Maroon.”

 

The captain smiled a little at the jest. Erin took the remaining seat next to him, tensing a little when the ocelot sniffed her wrist. Its huge green eyes glazed over her before the beast nestled its head into Crimson’s coat.

 

“Are you typically a keeper of exotic pets?” she asked.

 

He shook his head, “No, not at all. When I rescued Ozahn, I tried to release him, but the poor thing had spent too much time as some Governor’s pet that it didn’t understand how to live in the wild. It came running back to our boat within a few hours.”

 

“But surely it needs to catch fresh kills and live in a cave as any large cat?” Pat pointed out.

 

“Who’s to say he doesn’t?”

 

The pirate gently tapped the beast until it slithered off of his lap, then he stood and strode over to a curtain— Crimson snapped his fingers and pulled back the curtain to reveal… a jungle. Why, she could see the mountains and the rivers miles away! She could feel the humidity brush against her cheeks! Chirping and clicking of bugs and birds alike bounced off the wooden walls of the ship! The silverware slipped out of Erin’s hands and clattered on the plate as she gazed at trees and vines and thick foliage. Ozahn the ocelot quickly disappeared into the ferns and Crimson let the drapes fall back down to their resting position. He snapped his fingers once more and lifted a curtain to reveal the portion of his cabin that was his bedroom.

 

“A Kopernikun portal,” he smile. “I was a good friend of Nikolaus while I stayed in Poland— unfortunately, he was at the end of his life when I went to study with him. Used his science to further my research into magic and named this clever trick after him. Heliocentric Occultism. Ozahn can’t roam very far, but at least he has somewhat of a natural home.”

 

“Isn’t magic the opposite of science?” Erin asked with curiosity.

 

Crimson smiled, “Of course not! I do research, I base my observations on the world around me, and I record my findings like any other scholar.”

 

He sat down at the table and gently motioned for Erin to pass the basket of bread. She did so and their fingers touched— she felt a tingling, painful sensation she’d never experienced in her life. Erin let out a yelp and retracted her hand. Abby instantly reached towards Erin’s hip and fished out the flintlock, pointing it at the pirate captain.

 

“What did you do to her!”

 

“My apologies Ms. Gilbert! To use magic, one must master the various elements found in the world. Some spells require the use of electricity. When transmitted between two humans, one experiences a small amount of pain.”

 

Erin pushed the pistol down and away from its aim at Crimson’s face and asked, “Electricity. I’ve heard of that before… I had a distant relative, a cousin of my great-grandfather’s, who studied it quite extensively in England, but my family all thought he was a bit nutty. Is it true that that’s what lightning is made of?”

 

The captain shrugged, “No one knows for sure. There’s a disturbing lack of scientific research in the West Indies, but I wonder if the newfound towns of Boston or New York might reveal a source of inspiration for those studying the world around us—”

 

“He hurt you!” Abby interrupted.

 

Erin wrenched the pistol out of her hands, “I’m fine! He didn’t mean it!”

 

Pat gently set a hand on Abby’s shoulders, pushing her back into the seat and pouring the shorter woman another glass of wine. Erin decided to enjoy a small portion of meat pie. Thankfully the man had a taste for middle-class food, for she’d heard stories of some local nobles who preferred a delicacy of soup made of the local turtles. There was a platter of roasted pig from San Salvador that smelled absolutely amazing, and she had a bit of that as well. It took Abby a while to eat something, the fuming woman having resorted to naught but alcohol for the first half of the meal. Eventually she softened and filled her plate, figuring it was better to be imprisoned on a full stomach.

 

All was well and truly happy throughout the meal, and though minimal conversation was made, Erin couldn’t help but pretend they were dining with a proper gentleman.

 

 

At sunset, they were beset by a small fleet belonging to the Spanish Navy. Schooners and gunboats alike fired a paltry amount of cannonballs at the sturdy hull of the Hallowed Falcon, prompting Beckman to shout orders and insults alike as the crew readied for battle. Even Pat joined in, not with weapon in hand, but taking over the frigate’s steering while the helmsman picked up a sword. Erin and Abby weren’t sure what to do, so they made their way to the captain’s cabin. Its door swung open, Crimson casually swinging his coat over his shoulders and taking a few puffs of his pipe.

 

“Aren’t you worried about the fighting?” Erin asked, ducking when she heard the sound of a bullet zipping above their heads.

 

“Worried? The past two days have been so boring,” the pirate sighed in relief. “I was about to develop the fever! Will you hold my hat, lass?”’

 

Without warning, he smacked the tricone onto Erin’s head and strode off towards the railing, his men using grappling hooks to pull in a Spanish schooner. Other pirates of the Hallowed Falcon continued operating cannons and swivel guns to ward off the other ships in the small fleet. Erin pushed the captain’s hat out of her eyes to witness the events unfolding on the ship. Several crew swung across ropes or jumped towards the schooner, swords clashing and guns firing. She watched a few men fall on either side, but it didn’t really register to her that people were dying.

 

And then there was Doctor Crimson.

 

He wasn’t directly fighting, but she watched him create flames in his hand, his eyes closed in concentration as he concocted the spell. Then he let the flame fly from his fingers towards the sails of the enemy ship. She watched him use magic to send men flying into the ocean, only to fish them back out with the same spell— Spanish men sitting there with glazed eyes, sopping wet and mouths open like gasping fish as pirates bound their wrists behind their backs. If there was any doubt before, Erin could no longer deny the man’s abilities at wielding magic.

 

She could no longer deny his danger.

 

His fingers shot fire towards the Spanish flag, engulfing it in flames that licked down the wooden mast of the schooner. As soon as the soldiers saw their ship beginning to ruin, they dropped all weapons and held their hands above their heads in shame and fear. Then the other side of the Hallowed Falcon pulled in another schooner and began repeating the process. The gunboats that weren’t captured couldn’t fire without risking harming their allies, and were subjected to swirling around the massive calamity like vultures.

 

 

Within two hours, Doctor Crimson and his crew had captured two dozen Spanish soldiers. Four ships, albeit not the largest vessels in the West Indies, were now sinking to the bottom of the ocean.

 

“Stick those who won’t join us into the brig. We can ransom them at Old Fort Nassau when we arrive,” Beckman said, relaying what Crimson had whispered into his ear.

 

Erin began to realize that, throughout the duration of the battle, she’d moved from the safety of the captain’s cabin to a dangerous hiding spot behind a few crates. She stood up, brushed her dress off, and tried to pretend that she wasn’t covered in a fair bit of gunpowder. Doctor Crimson brushed past her, swiftly plucking his tricone off of her head and retreating into his cabin for the night.

 

“Did I say something wrong?” she wondered aloud.

 

Beckman gently extended his hand to help her out of her hiding spot, “No worries, Ms. Gilbert. Me captain merely feels ill on occasion. His throat has been sick for some two centuries, and he cannot speak for too long without causing great pain to himself.”

 

“A man so immortal and godlike cannot fashion himself a cure?”

 

“Methinks it’s somewhat of a price for his magic, my lady.”

 

Erin glanced at the slow dimming of the cabin lights and thought to herself, _‘Most curious.’_

 

She followed Abby and Pat back to their quarters, a modest room that had a functional lock and a cat to keep away the mice. Though the pirates had been polite enough, she wasn’t going to sleep anywhere near them out of the fear that every woman has around men. Erin settled into a bunk and listened to the ocean lapping against the hull of the Hallowed Falcon. A slight dripping caught her attention.

 

“Blast, one of the Spanish cannonballs must’ve struck the wood here,” Pat sighed, taking off her shirt and stuffing it into a crack that was leaking somewhat. “I’ll let Kevin know before we reach Nassau.”

 

“You’re on a first name basis with the pirate Beckman, then?” Abby asked, tucking into her own bunk.

 

“He may be a pirate, but he’s a bit of a sweetheart. He’s too dim to be immoral,” Pat winked. “And a little cute, don’t you think? It’s not often that we meet Irishmen down here.”

 

“Traitor.”

 

Pat glanced down at Abby’s bunk and smiled, “I’m loyal to the two of you until the day you choose to fire me.”

 

“We’re hardly your employers anymore. We lack a place of business, seeing as Crimson sunk our last one, nor do we possess the means to pay you,” Erin sighed, fiddling with the sheets the pirates had given her.

 

“Perhaps I am loyal to you as a friend, then.”

 

Abigail rolled her eyes but Erin offered a genuine smile. Pat settled in for the night and blew out the lamp, allowing the cat to climb into her bed (Abigail had a horrid allergy, and was as far away from the pet as she could be). The ocean continued it’s chisel against the hull of the vessel, yet in the distance, or more likely in the back of her head, Erin could still hear the cannonfire and the unmistakable sound of a magical spell being cast.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About the bit where Erin is shocked with electricity and mentions a relative who studied it; in real life there was an Englishman named William Gilbert (1544-1603, this story takes place around 1700) who is regarded as the father of electrical engineering, electricity, and magnetism. Maybe that's where she gets her love of science from in this story.
> 
> Additional note: Since Australia hasn't been invaded by the British yet, and therefore is not a country yet, Kevin's going to be Irish in this fic.
> 
> What do you think of this so far? Please let us know in the comments!


	5. Globster

 

Nassau was what Erin had always imagined chaos to look like. Such vivid personification, from the dogs and cats running all over the rooftops to the pirates and sailors drunkenly dancing around with gusto to the ships drifting into themselves as they were haphazardly anchored within meters of one another along the edge of the shore. Palm trees draped over groups of women sitting near the docks wearing _pants_ showing _ankle_ , and Erin couldn’t help but hear her mother’s berating voice in the back of her head for not rushing to cover their legs (never mind that some of them weren’t even wearing shirts over their bosoms).

 

Today was hot. Hotter than she’d ever experienced in the West Indies, and more than anything she wanted to sit in Crimson’s magically chilled cabin, or perhaps escape through that ‘Kopernican’ portal of his to a cold European country. At least she had a fan to wave near her face, a small trinket that quartermaster Beckman had fashioned out of… she glanced down at it only to realize that she was fanning herself with a wanted poster. How unpleasant. Then again, making a mockery of the crown seemed to be the vernacular of this environment.

 

“Raise not a flintlock to mine face, gracious ladies,” a familiar voice said behind her. “For I keep my promise upon our embarking of this mad city. You are free to leave.”

 

Beside her, Abby huffed, “Oh did you want applause for treating us with dignity? Men, always asking for reward upon accomplishing the bare minimum.”

 

Crimson grinned a little at this, his cheeks creating deep wrinkles near the corners of his eyes that betrayed how often he truly smiled. He dropped a small pouch of coins into Erin’s fumbling hands, and when the ship slowly pulled up next to the dock and pirates proceeded to tie down the vessel, he held out his hand. Crimson gently escorted Erin down the ramp and brought the back of her hand up for a gentle kiss. Even though twas only her knuckles, she could still feel that his lips were soft and kindly.

 

“May we meet again, Ms. Gilbert Erin Gilbert.”

 

“I’ll hope that you have the decency to keep my next property afloat, Doctor.”

 

The mysterious and deadly captain looked a little sheepish as he swiftly pivoted on the ball of his foot and strode back to his famed frigate. He gave both Abigail and Pat a respectful bow and returned his black hat atop his head. Beckman gave them a sad wave, with a bit of a pout in his bottom lip. While Abby stomped away from the ship what had given her so much trouble, Pat was sure to step off with her right foot (sailor’s superstition).

 

“Well… we have acquired freedom?” Pat shrugged. “What shall we do w—”

 

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY AREN’T HERE?!”

 

All three women glanced back at the Hallowed Falcon, where one of the young deckhands quivered under a suddenly angry Doctor Crimson, who rushed to the railing and scanned the harbor of Nassau. Erin glanced around, too, realizing with a start that the Columbia— Filmore’s ship— was nowhere to be found. They must’ve put too much distance between the two vessels during the battle against the Spanish fleet a few days’ prior. It was clear that Crimson was beyond angry, but he didn’t strike out at his men, who were innocent, and instead gripped his fingers into the wood. Erin saw a slight amount of spark flickering off the pads of his fingertips and singeing the paint. Crimson took a deep breath and straightened himself out;

 

“We’ll scour the town for witnesses and take to hunting him down next month. He can’t read the map, so he must be holding it for a buyer. Beckman!”

 

“Yessir?”

 

“Escort the women wherever they desire, and then tend to the ship. When it’s clean and ready for a fresh voyage, you and the men may enjoy the town as you please.”

 

“Of course. Lads! Off yer arses!” Beckman shouted. He then gently turned to walk down the plank and join the women waiting at the bottom. “Where shall I see thee?”

 

“To a pub. God knows I need a drink.”

 

“Right this way, Ms. Yates.”

 

Beckman held out his elbow, and Pat laughed as she took it. Abby reluctantly followed with her shoes kicking up the dirt as she scuffled away as a child might. Erin’s hand trembled a little, and two fingers reached out towards the Hallowed Falcon— as though she wanted to board it again and sail away. But she reminded herself of the excitement of visiting Nassau, and turned back to face her friends.

 

 

“Here you are ladies,” Beckman smiled, lowering the tray, “Finest liquor in all the land.”

 

“Did you order whiskey for me?” Abby asked, passing him a few gold coins for his trouble.

 

The quartermaster thought about it for a few moments as though he’d forgotten, then picked up Abby’s mug and took a large gulp fitting for a pirate. His face changed into a horrified expression and he spat the alcohol back into the mug.

 

“I hate whiskey...  aye, it’s Irish alright... g’day ladies,” he murmured, stumbling away.

 

Abby looked to protest, but realized that she’d had a rough month aboard the Hallowed Falcon, and knocked back a bit of the stuff herself. Erin nursed beer brewed up in the colonies, and Patty was content with the usual Caribbean rum. To them, it was both the best and healthiest thing to drink, as one couldn’t always trust local water supplies. Between the three of them, there was enough money to stay in Nassau for a week. Erin and Abby needed to find work fit for merchants, but all Pat needed was to swagger onto a ship and sell her skills. Erin brought this up after a second round of drinks.

 

“Why didn’t you just join the pirates, Pat?”

 

The sailor shrugged, “I am loyal to you, regardless of what you can pay me, and not to some lousy excuse for a man and his band of drunk lowlifes.”

 

“We’re drunk toooo!” Abby said, slammin her hand against the table without a scrap of shame, “Drunk and poor and if that isn’t the life in the West Indies, than I don’t know what is!”

 

Erin ignored her best friend, “Shouldn’t you want for easy work with a boss that doles out only the finest pay?”

 

“I’ve seen your eye wander aboard the Hallowed Falcon, Ms. Gilbert,” Pat whispered, “You’re being tempted by a sin the likes of which could earn you a visit to the gallows.”

 

“That’s funny… I was about to suggest you return and work for them. Seeing as we have naught to offer.”

 

Pat glanced at the ship harbored in the dock, as they could see it from the pub’s perch on the hill. Its crimson sails wrapped up perfectly and not a soul to be found out on the deck— though the lights were on in the cabin, and occasionally morphing into colors that no candle could emit. Erin longed to peek through the windows and discover what magics Doctor Crimson was working on next; no doubt some sort of divination to find Filmore.

 

“I’ll consider it if I cannot find anything else,” Pat muttered. “If naught for Beckman’s personality, it’d be a depressing place to find a lass like me.”

 

“How ye fare? You’d be a graaaaaaand pirate,” Abby said with slurr’d speech. “You could wield a sword! A sword! And you could fight alongside a magic man! Magic!! Pat the Unstoppable! Think of the power! The power of Pat!”

 

Pat grinned and whispered something into her cup of rum, something that Erin’d never have caught if she were any more drunk.

 

“Like I said, I’ll consider it. I ought to get going if I want to find a good spot to sleep under.”

 

“You’re not going to come with us to the hotel?”

 

Pat shrugged the ditty bag that the pirates had let her take, filled with some clothes and coin, over her shoulder and smiled tiredly, “I’m not one to sleep inside, ma’am.”

“Please… call us Erin and Abigail.”

 

“Farewell my friends,” the sailor nodded, turning and heading down the grassy hill to a beach bonfire surrounded by sailors and pirates alike.

 

Erin sat back down at their table and snatched the glass and bottle of whiskey away from Abby. Her best friend’s cheek was beginning to press into the wood, and Erin thought it’d be best if they left for the night. She threw one of Abby’s arm around her shoulders and tugged with all her strength.

 

“Come on! We’re going to go rent a room.”

 

“Mmmm… he wasn’ really soooo bad was ‘e? I was a little haaaarsh…”

 

“Who are you talking about, Abigail?”

 

“Doctor Criiiiiiiiimson! He was a rather interesting lad, and if he weren’t a pirate, I’d think he holds himself like nobility! I was just worried for your… for your… for your safety! I forgot the worm for a minute there.”

 

“You forgot the _word_?”

 

“Aye.”

 

Erin waved off the help of an offering gentleman as she wandered towards the signs that advertised a hotel. They staggered as best they could down the road, though in Nassau that was a common sight, and most of the people they passed were equally pissed. Erin only really worried that a pickpocket might take away with the paltry sum that Doctor Crimson had bestowed upon them. Once or twice Abby fell asleep on her shoulders and she had to snap in her best friend’s ears to awake her once more. Finally she made it to a hotel and set Abigail down at a bench while she negotiated for a room with the shrewd-looking innkeeper. His paunchy wife gave them beaming smiles and readied a supper for Erin and some hot coals for both their beds, mistaking her polite tipsiness for exhaustion.

 

“Came in off that ‘Hallowed Falcon’, didn’t ya?” the innkeeper mumbled as he counted coin. “Tis the only ship that came in today, and I haven’t seen your face around this city before.”

 

“Oh, hush Albert! I’m sure they were simply seeking passage! I heard that the Falcon just went to the Locker! It’s truly an adventurous vessel, isn’t it?”

 

“Mary, you can’t believe everything the boys out back tell you! Stop feeding them scraps and they’ll stop feeding you lies!”

 

The innkeeper’s wife ignored his commands and led Erin up the creaky wooden stairs to a lone bedroom furnished with two cots. She found some blankets and stuffed the pans of coals underneath to warm Erin and Abby’s feet (the former didn’t understand why anyone would appreciate that in this weather, but these people looked as though they’d been here so long that the nights were cold to them).

 

Abigail fell asleep almost instantly, the alcohol in her blood ignoring the heat of the room. Erin didn’t blow out the candle just yet, staring out the window at the chaotic town surrounding her. She watched carts of fishing tack weave back and forth through the crowd, a few women serving fresh dishes from stands beneath the palm trees (reminding Erin to eat what ‘Mary’ had cooked for her), and bands performing near bars— their guitars beat up and painted in bright colors, but their melodies polished and soft to the ears.

 

Erin wondered what would happen if she took passage to the nearest civilized, British settlement and told them everything. Recalled the captain’s cruel sinking of her boat for possession of a contraband she did not have, forcing her to lie in Kingston and then chasing after the Columbia. Surely Filmore was a respectable man after all, and Doctor Crimson was of unsound mind. And she could let them know of the firepower of his ship— taking on four Spanish ships and sinking them to the bottom of the ocean.

 

They would never believe her, for how could she tell the truth of the story without mention of magic? And what sane government went without burning those who spoke of its existence in awe and wonder, as she would surely do upon confession? Who would believe that Doctor Crimson could open a door to a jungle in his cabin? Who would believe that she flew over the heads of scrambling sailors in Jamaica? Or that he’d used fire from his hands to burn the sails? Even if the legends were true, men who partook in war wanted the truth of their opponent's methods and weaponry, and likely wouldn’t take kindly to such an outlandish story.

 

Erin finished her meal, setting it outside her door, and crawled into bed. She closed her eyes and drifted away to a soft serenade playing outside the window.

 

 

“Oh… curse you for letting me drink this much, you wench.”

 

Erin glanced over her book, a review of the King’s northern colonies’ economic potential written two generations back. No doubt it used to belong to poor innkeeper Albert, who instead of managing a peaceful farm up in the frontier had to settle with serving pirates room and board.

 

“You were the one who requested Beckman to escort us to a pub, Abigail.”

 

“And ye should have stopped me from making the decisions! Where’s Pat?”

 

“Left, remember? She’s going to first try and find work with honest men, and if she does not succeed, she’ll head back to the Hallowed Falcon. I think she’ll miss Beckman.”

 

“It’s for the best, really. We don’t know how long we’ll be here, and a woman like that needs the open sea to feel liberated and alive.”

 

Erin nodded with a smile, “Aye, tis what makes her such a wonder.”

 

Abigail slowly rose from bed and began washing herself with the basin and pail of clean-ish water that the innkeeper had brought up that morning. They would order baths tonight, if they kept track of their money. When it was Erin’s turn to wash up, Abby snatched the book from her hands and sighed;

 

“Perhaps we ought to write a book together about the West Indies. We’ll have to spend a few more years here to refine our views of the place, but given our luck, it’ll be quite some time before we even have the money to buy a ship and return home to see our families.”

 

“Our luck shall turn a new page within the year, I swear it!” Erin promised, glancing in the mirror for a moment before rubbing a bit of soot off her cheek. The battle with the Spanish fleet had been exciting and terrifying to watch up close, but it’d covered her in a bit of gunpowder. She thanked the fact that the two women had entered the inn at nighttime, where the dim lighting concealed her ruffled appearance from the civilized innkeepers. She cleaned off as much of the soot as possible and promised to buy new clothes if she could.

 

Were it not for the alligators and monkeys near the edge of town, she might sneak away to wash her clothes in one of the nearby streams. Then again, there was likely only swamp water out there, and Erin wasn’t keep to smell such a fragrance all over herself.  

 

“Says here that Sir Henry Hudson might have discovered the passage that links the Atlantic and Pacific oceans together up north in Quebec. Can you imagine sailing from England straight to China and India?”

 

“My parents do not believe that Master Magallan and his successor Elcano were truthful in their circumnavigation of the earth. They believe Magallan fell off the edge, and that Elcano turned around and lied that the Spanish King might reward him.”

 

“What do you believe?”

 

Erin took a sip of tea that Mary had brewed for her and shrugged, “The more we discover about the world, the less we seem to know.”

 

It took them a while to get up and ready to leave, as their land legs had yet to return, and they slowly made their way down to the front door and out onto the street by noon. Erin had no documents proving their history as textile merchants, and she worried that no business was ready to hire two uppity women such as Abigail and herself.

 

Sure enough, the first door slammed in her face before she could stammer the entire sentence out. Abby took to pounding on the window before Erin could drag her away.

 

“We’ll get naught from them, come on.”

 

None of the merchants manning stalls near the dockyards had any work for the two of them (some even looked sympathetic), and Erin sat at a log on the beach wondering what to do.

 

“Perhaps we ought to seek passage aboard a fishing vessel headed for Havana?” she suggested.

 

Abby broke apart some bread that she’d purchased nearby and passed a piece to Erin, “Hush, now, we’ll find something. We’re likely the only people who can read in this town besides the innkeepers. Actually, I don’t think Albert can read, his wife was the one writing in the books this morning. People need scribes to manage their books.”

 

“To pay what taxes?! The only men that rule this island are pirates! They don’t take taxes, they take lives!”

 

“I see no difference,” Abby shrugged.

 

Erin tried another business after kicking around at the sand for half an hour. She weaved through the crowd and found a general merchant ( _Hudson’s Practicality_ ) managed by a young lad who quivered in fear at the sight of the two women. She kindly requested for his father, and he pointed towards the back of the store.

 

“Hello there, we’re looking for work! Both of us are educated in reading, writing, and mathematics. Do you need employees to run shipments throughout the West Indies?”

 

The owner of the business moved towards the front and pushed the quivering boy out of the way. He looked pale and snobbish, with an ugly white wig topping his head and one too many chins underneath his mouth. The man took no time in giving both the women a once-over with his beady little eyes and shaking his head. Erin didn’t like the way he held himself one bit.

 

“I can’t have you touching my finances. Women can’t make good decisions.”

 

“Excuse me?” Abby asked, setting her hands on her hips, “And just who do you think you are to say such a thing?”

 

“Phil Hudson, of Yorkshire. And this is my store, so I’d advise you to watch your tongue and know your place,” the owner sneered. He turned to Erin, “Surely you have enough sense to quell your friend’s little rebellion?”

 

Erin gently guided Abigail out of his view and laughed nervously, “Please, we just want work, else we’ll starve in this foreign land. Can’t you take it within yourself to find sympathy?”

 

“Women don’t work. Women are to be bedded and made mothers. I’d be happy to take you as a wife, Miss, but you’d have to dump this harbor whor—”

 

What this esteemed Phil Hudson had lacked to understand was that Abby had walked over to the counter where his son was brewing some tea. Abigail had pour’d herself a cup of the drink and harshly grabbed this Phil by the shoulders to turn him around, splashing him in the face with the liquid as soon as he’d begun his insult of her. The store owner dropped to the ground in pain and began crying like a newly born babe. Erin let out a scream (both in fright and delight) and covered her mouth with her hand as Abby grabbed her arm.

 

“Let’s go! Before he calls the guards!”

 

“What guards?! We’re surrounded by pirates!”

 

Abby slammed the door behind her, saying, “Let us flee nonetheless! Vigilantes for working women everywhere, we shall be!”

 

“You salted globster!”

 

“What’s that?”

 

Erin giggled, holding onto Abby’s arm as they ran away from the store, still hearing the man’s angry ranting as they turn’d a corner and hid down an alley, “I haven’t the slightest idea. I heard a sailor mention it in passing, and it sounds just the sort of word to fit you!”

 

“I resent that!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I was worried I wouldn't complete this chapter. Finals week sucks, y'all! At any rate, this is starting to take off and I'm hoping that you are enjoying this prime piratey gay content we provide. Please let us know what you think!!
> 
> -Z
> 
> (P.S. globster is a real word)


	6. The Woman of Nassau

 

After escaping from the menacing… erm… well… pathetic clutches of a disgruntled, misogynistic storekeeper, our brave heroines made their way towards a public market to wallow in the sorrow of not acquiring honest mercantile employment. Erin plopped down at a bench while Abby bought some stew for the both of them; though within a matter of minutes, Erin was chased away from said bench by a small smattering of seagulls aggressively picking at her shoes.

 

“Oh! Stop that!”

 

Abby gave an amused smile, “Hundreds, if not thousands of languages spoken by humans across continents and countries and seas and oceans, and yet these pesky little birds still don’t understand the concept of ‘no’.”

 

“Quite like men, they are,” Erin sighed. She accepted a bowl of stew and they headed down towards the beach, passing a group of pirates all standing in a circle. She thought it most curious and slowly crept up to the gathering— only to find two gentlemen fencing for a bit of sport. Their swords clashed and clanged against each other as they danced around in the sand; occasionally losing their footing much to the cheers of the drunken group around them. The lads dueling didn’t appear to be doing so out of any malevolence, laughing as one another might occasionally make mistake in his swordsmanship. Erin felt something inside her stir, and nearly dropped her meal to push her way through to get closer to the action in the center.

 

“How marvelous!” she declared. “What excitement!”

 

A duo of nearby pirates glanced at her and chuckled, “Tis a bit of mischief ma’am, no more and no less. Actually, tis only a trifle of the splendour we enjoy at sea, fighting against the Lobsterbacks and the fancy Spanish lads!”

 

She knew they were boasting, but it didn’t cause her to cease admiration.

 

“OH, but what poetry one witnesses! See how his fingers so carefully calculate the weight of his sword, how his eyes map out the proper angles to swing the blade that he might strike a precise, unbalancing blow! Terribly mathematical, it is! I’d love to learn!”

 

A pirate behind her scoffed, “A female duelist! How preposterous!”

 

“Don’t be so sure,” a light voice countered. It flowed heavy with a European accent so thick that Erin wasn’t sure which country it might originate, yet it continued. “Were a woman’s tongue a blade, she would sever you in half with her wit alone. Or she might stab you with sarcasm, dripping thick and poisonous. Perhaps lacerations of uppity temperament that causes the clergy to run in fear, were a woman’s mouth sporting dirk or shiv. To say nothing of her armor, crafted from the fine metals of patience itself.”

 

Erin slowly turned around and found herself nose to nose with a woman, amidst the cheering pirates. Blue eyes so bright and full that they paled the Bahamian waters behind her, the woman staring Erin down had a mischievous look about her.  

 

It wasn’t so much the light scars and the way the woman bit her bottom lip as though she knew far more about the world than Erin ever could, or perhaps the toned muscles on her arms that spun a tale of a life at sea. It was the stance she swayed in as she waited for a response from Erin, her hips rocking side to side and her shoulders lifted (twas obvious this girl had spent her life puffing out her chest to protest presence of fear from within). The way she rocked on the balls of her feet. Erin had never felt so drawn to a person. She had bright blonde hair that glowed with the sunlight, pulled into a bun but still flying everywhere in the wind; it reminded Erin of something but she just couldn’t put her finger on it. This girl wore a light cotton shirt to reflect the heat of the Caribbean sun, and pants made practically of rags but had not a stain on their folds, and a pretty seashell necklace dangling below her throat. The girl was barefoot, as well. On the neckline of her shirt dangled a pair of glasses, so worn from a life at sea that they carried a yellow tint to them. 

 

“I’m sorry… w-who are you?”

 

The girl— well, Erin really ought call her a woman, yet she observed something so impish about her— leaned forwards and tapped the textile merchant on the nose. Then she let out a hearty laugh and beamed;

 

“I can teach you how to wield a sword, if it strikes ya fancy!”  

 

Erin didn’t point out that the girl hadn’t answered her question, for she was far too intrigued with the concept of learning to defend herself. She glanced back at Abby, who merely shrugged in boredom;

 

“We’ve got nothing better to do. You can always find dishonest work in an honest city, but not the other way around, as it would seem in Nassau’s case. Besides, we need to know how to defend ourselves in case we’re beset by… more…  _ roguish  _ types in the future.”

 

“Unless you’d rather wander aimlessly until another offer arrives?” the mystery woman shrugged.

 

Erin thought about it, her willpower slowly faltering. She gave the girl a smile that she hadn’t been able to produce since childhood, her heart already racing with excitement as the woman grabbed her hand and tugged her through the drunken crowd of the Nassau shore, towards the merchant’s district of the town. Underneath a clothesline and around a cart filled with fruit, past the mercenary sleeping on duty and over a ditch that ran between a hotel and a bar, the three women found themselves at a warehouse. The mystery girl raised a wooden bar keeping the door locked and pulled at the handle, letting it swing open with a thunderously loud creak. Were there guards in Nassau, they would have heard it; but this was a city of incivility. 

 

“What’s your name?” Abby asked, modifying the question that Erin had asked earlier.

 

“You may call me… Holtzmann. No more, no less. What shall I call you?”

 

“What a strange first name,” Abby muttered, clearing her throat and adding more loudly, “I am Abigail Yates, and this is Erin Gilbert.”

 

“Absolutely charmed to meet you, I really am.”

 

Erin wrinkled her nose at the dust in the warehouse, helping ‘Holtzmann’ clear the middle of the room of barrels and crates. She raised an eyebrow, “And why are you training us in the art of self-defense?”

 

“I got bored. Today was going to be a day at sea, but alas I was grounded by… an inconvenient merchant. At any rate, be glad I’m willing to teach you.”

 

“Of course. How do we start?”

 

‘Holtzmann’ pointed at the wall, where a small rack of blades was kept. They had a thick layer of dust on them, and the insignia of first Dutch West India Company, which had been disbanded twenty five years ago. These weren’t new swords, but perhaps they might still suffice for beginners. Both Abigail and Erin picked out a blade and stood in the center of the warehouse’s empty room. Holtzmann drew her own cutlass, of seemingly fancy make for someone dressed so low-class as she. Then again, this was an island of thieves…

 

“What if we hurt one another?”

 

Holtzmann grinned, “It’ll be no more than the prick of a sewing needle.”

 

“But what if it’s a grand gash?” Abby asked.

 

“Those blades are more spoon-like than knife-like, truth be told. If you’re hit, it’ll be a blunt blow, and ye’ll have a bruise for a week. If ye truly have reserves, there ought to be some heavy jackets in here meant for the sparks of smithing that’ll protect you from a few stabs.”

 

Abby retrieved the coats while Erin weighed the weapon in her hand, the seriousness of this activity hitting her. No respectable woman in England would partake in such mischief, yet the past month had taught her that respectable in the West Indies was not a trait that most of the ilk took heed to. She felt the grip of the blade, letting it almost mold into her palm, and took a few steps back so that the point wasn’t in Abigail’s face. Her best friend tossed a jacket her way, and she nearly let out an ‘oof’ at its weight. When they were ready, Holtzmann gave a nod (the mysterious woman sitting atop a barrel and smoking a pipe of… something Jamaican). 

 

“Step forwards, as if you are pushing into your attack. Abigail, you can either step back or counter attack. If Erin steps back, you match that with a step forwards. If she counter attacks, you should parry.”

 

“What… what are any of those words?” Abby asked.

 

Holtzmann sighed, “My English is acceptable, yet you are confused? You need demonstrating…”

 

She emptied her pipe, hopped off the barrel, and drew her own sword. Suddenly Holtzmann was lunging forwards and sending its point towards Erin’s shoulder, who barely had enough reflex to use the hilt of her weapon to push the danger away. Each clash reminded Erin of a clap of thunder, the vibrations of the hits shaking her wrist and nearly prompting her to put a second hand on the hilt. She attempted to deflect a blow headed for her shins and her blade went flying into the air.

 

Holtzmann laughed a little at this, but in a good-hearted way rather than meaning to make fun of Erin, and said, “You’re a spirited fighter! I like that! Now pay attention; you’re holding the sword in an unbalanced manner, it is a matter of physics!”

 

“Physics,” Erin huffed, distracted by the heat and the dust in her eyes. “I can calculate physics.”

 

“Okay, but it’s important not to overthink your moves. You don’t want to waste vital time, and eventually all of this is reflexes. Now, the weakest part of the blade is the central ridge, up near the point. Tis how I sent your blade towards the wall over there. When you parry, focus your strikes down on the fuller, use the chappe and cross-guard to push ‘em away if you have to.”

 

Erin retrieved her sword while Abby tried with the woman, managing to lock their hilts together and push Holtzmann away on the second attempt. 

 

“Yes! Perfect!”

 

“Where’d you learn to do all this?” Erin asked.

 

Holtzmann hesitated, and then shrugged, “A life at sea, me’lady. One either defends herself or ends up dead. Or worse, a prisoner.”

 

“Aye. We know firsthand,” Abby nodded.

 

“Oh?”

 

Erin’s grip on the hilt of her sword tightened. Now was not the time to spin the tall tale of magic and demonic pirate captains. No, this girl would back away in fear and run towards her beach of friends, never to want anything to do with Erin and Abigail again. They couldn’t have that… they needed a friend in a time like this. The mystery woman sensed her reservations and brought her sword up for another lesson. 

 

“Let’s try disarming. When you do this, you put yourself in a bit of a vulnerable state— if he moves first, he disarms you instead. So speed and force are of great importance,” Holtzmann smiled. “You have to make contact first the moment your swords cross. Come from underneath and twist his wrist, forcing him to drop the sword. Of course, if you’re in a rush for time, you could just swipe from underneath with a lot of force, but flying swords are quite hazardous to one’s health.”

 

“Of course.”

 

Erin tried, again and again. She couldn’t do it. No matter how many attempts she took, Holtzmann managed to beat her to the disarm. She was doing everything right, too, and even began using more force— perhaps she was too distracted.

 

“You can’t expect me to master this in a day,” she pointed out.

 

Holtzmann laughed, “Of course not. But I should hope you’ll continue to practice.”

 

Around noon, when it was all too hot to focus on her footwork, Abigail left to fetch water for the three of them — leaving Erin and Holtzmann to laze around in the warehouse.

 

“Where are you from, Ms. Erin? Middle left of his torso.”

 

She picked up the sword and let it glint in the sun for a moment. Just after Abby had left, Holtzmann had found a scarecrow up in the second floor of the warehouse and was instructing Erin how to jab. There was an advantage in this modern era of dueling, that men were not so keen to wear armor anymore. Thus rapiers held such a lovely advantage for those built with long arms. She stabbed the straw dummy, but her aim was off and she hit him in the stomach.

 

“England. Lancashire to be specific.”

 

Erin wanted to ask the same question to Holtzmann, but something in the other woman’s eyes requested to not share such details, in a rather warning tone. The door to the warehouse creaked open and Abby returned with a wooden canteen filled with water (from what source, Erin didn’t want to know). 

 

After Erin took a sip, she readied her sword and squared against Abby, “I want to try the disarming again. Just a few more attempts. I’ll get the hang of it, I promise.”

 

She didn’t, of course.

 

  


 

Two hours had passed, with Abigail and Erin relentlessly practicing what the mystery woman had taught them. Finally, Erin managed to trip Abby with a clever kick and pointed her sword at the fallen merchant’s chest. 

 

“I’m getting the basics of this!”

 

Abby smiled wide in excitement, “Good job. Maybe we’ll be able to defend ourselves next time a pirate attacks us.”

 

“Oh, goodness, do you think so? I don’t know… we’re awfully unconditioned for a fight,” Erin said, pulling her best friend up by the feet. She turned to Holtzmann and asked, “Do you think you could keep teaching us?”

 

But the younger woman had vanished from the warehouse, likely having slipped out while they were dueling. Erin nervously touched a bruise that Abigail had given her earlier and bit her lip; always one to fidget when she wasn’t sure what to do. It felt disappointing to know that Holtzmann wasn’t interested in spending any more time with them, and she wondered why the girl had taught them swordsmanship in the first place.

 

Both Abby and Erin looked at the swords in their hands and then decided that they would keep them for the time being. The latter still had the red scarf that Crimson had given her for the pistol, snugly wrapped around her waist. Abigail decided to search around the warehouse for something to fashion a holster with.

 

“Do you think Holtzmann owned this warehouse?” Abby asked.

 

Erin paused and thought about it for a few moments, then shook her head, “I think she was a pirate. So probably not.”

 

“And… if we were to take something from here, we’d officially be thieves, right?”

 

“Yes, I suppose we would.”

 

Abby peered into two crates filled with clothing, pulling out a big cloth poncho and a set of trousers. Then, she retrieved a leather coat and passed it to Erin.

 

“Therefore… it would make sense if we were to… further that adjective and become thieves aboard a boat? After all… there’s no money to be made as a textile merchant in Nassau, or anywhere in the West Indies, truth be told.”

 

Erin took the garments that Abby kept passing her, clothes that were masculine and lacking in space for a corset. They were loose and large and comfortable-looking. All of a sudden, her dress seemed too itchy and lacey and she never really enjoyed it much in the first place to be perfectly frank! Who in their right mind would swordfight in bodice— why, the enigma Holtzmann must’ve been giggling at their appearance the entire time! She glanced down at the dress and cast another gander at the tempting clothes, then quickly ducking behind a few crates to change.

 

“Oh, why are you hiding?! We’ve known each other since we were kids!”

 

Erin laughed a little, “I’m all sweaty from our training, ‘twould be indecent.”

 

Besides their hair, which remained in the usual styles, Erin Gilbert and Abigail Yates appeared completely unrecognizable in their clothes. Abby looked quite comfortable to not have to wear so many accessories as women had to (to appear presentable), but Erin kept making silly faces at the unfamiliar feeling of wearing trousers. They weren’t uncomfortable, but she couldn’t help but wonder why women weren’t allowed such a wonder on a daily basis. She pondered, though only for a moment, the possibility of legal repercussions of cross-dressing. Perhaps she ought visit a Molly House and ask them for advice, but then laughed it off. She would not hide that she was a woman— and were she to truly become a pirate, legal repercussions would be the least of her worries.

 

“Goodness,” Erin giggled, as she put on the coat, “We look rather fearsome, don’t we?”

 

“Aye. I don’t know if I could wear a dress again. It’d have to be an emergency, or a funeral. Likely both and likely my own.”

 

For a moment, they were both silent as they adjusted straps and buckles and that sort of thing. Then Erin glanced back up and softly asked, “Did you mean it?”

 

“Come again?”

 

“Did you mean it when you suggested we become pirates?”

 

Abby smiled sheepishly, “‘Twas more of an implication than a suggestion, but of course I did. I don’t want to go back to England, really, and we can’t make much money without The Aphrodite. Perchance we might stumble across a desperate enough captain who’d overlook the composition of our gender in exchange for what workforce we could provide.”

 

“We’re rather inexperienced.”

 

“At some things,” Abigail agreed. “But I doubt most of the men at sea can read. I doubt any of them know basic mathematics. They’re going to need navigators and accountants, won’t they? Eventually a pirate has to sell his treasure to make money, no?”

 

“There’s going to be new islands out there, that the conquistadors haven’t been to. New animals that King William the Third couldn’t even dream up.”

 

“‘Tis a land of adventure, Erin. I don’t see why we can’t reap the same fruits as other men.”

 

She nodded and took a deep breath, quelling the anxiety that’d been cropping up within her. One push, and the door opened to reveal a harsh sunlight that stung their English eyes. Erin, raising her hand to block out a sun that she would grow accustomed to, wondered what adventures might swirl around her life hereafter.

 

To become a pirate. That would be quite the story to tell the grandchildren.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooooooo here she is!! She's finally here!!! I can't believe.............. she's gone. 
> 
> Leave comments and tell us what you think of the story so far! Please! (I need your validation)
> 
> -Z


	7. To Steal a Frigate

 

 

 

“Where does one even begin a search for such contracts diverting of virtuousness?” Abby asked, picking at a scab on her hand.

 

Erin shrugged, “Anywhere in this wretched city.”

 

Their first attempt began next morning, at the closest thing to a marina one might find in a pirate bay— some little shack that Erin Gilbert would define as the opposite of quaint or cozy. The wood that served as roof for the place sagged inwards (a sure sign of rot), and Erin wasn’t sure if, despite their desperateness, she would want to work here at all. When Abby pushed the door open, they discovered a body, slung over a desk and snoring loud enough to cause an earthquake. Several bottles of rum had broken and their contents spilled all over the floor— combined with the heat of the day to produce a horrid odor that might kill a human with a lesser immune system. Erin and Abby quickly yelped and jumped out of the shack.

 

They thought about it for a moment. Then Abby turned to Erin and frowned;

 

“Ought we pull him out of there? The fumes can’t be good for his health.”

 

Erin grimaced, “Were it not for the snoring, I’d have guessed he died already. Very well, perhaps in gratitude, he might supply us with work.”

 

They propped as many windows open as they could, and tied the door open that they might survive their attempt at fetching the unconscious man. A bit of sand blew in and caused Erin’s boots to make a horrid scuffling sound against the wooden floor as she cautiously tiptoed towards his sleeping form; she took an arm and threw it over her shoulders, wincing at both his smell and the realization that his clothes were soggy (with what pestilence, she did not wish to inquire). Abby caught his other arm and together they made short work of pulling him out of the shack. He mumbled something in his sleep, and as soon as they’d plopped him down against some driftwood, Abigail attempted to sift his words out from his incoherent mumbling.

 

“Mmmm… wassi… howla bungo… go… away… walkkwa... “

 

Abigail shook his shoulder, a little violently, “Sir, are you awake, sir?”

 

_ “Go away…” _

 

Erin folded her arms across her chest and pouted, her heels sinking a little into the sand as she stood that she might remain rooted to the spot. She said, “We’re not leaving until you awake and properly send us away, but you might be so kind as to reward us for saving your life.”

 

“Do you not speak the King’s English? Go away, wenches!”

 

‘Twas a brave idea, if a little silly for that scale of her grand inexperience. Erin had enough of playing nice and drew her sword, concocting the idea that threatening the drunkard might earn them work at a quicker pace than this feeble attempt to see reason within alcohol. The man managed to focus his two bloodshot eyes on the shiny metal point aim’d towards his nose and coughed.

 

“What reward shall ye ladies be seeking?”

 

Abigail had drawn her sword by now, eager to match Erin in their newfound piracy, but she smiled with politeness, “We’re looking for work, kind sir, as cosairs if you will.”

 

“I have no work,” the man insisted, trembling fingers (though like of booze rather than nervousness) pushed the swords away from his eyes. “I’ve gone bankrupt and if it kindly interests you ladies, I am awaiting the Reaper’s soft kiss. Or Man’s hard liquor, whichever shall see me to bliss and the Locker first.”

 

“The sign says that you wanted help!”

 

“Aye, but it was a kindly prayer to God, thank you very much.”   

 

Abby turned to Erin and let out a huff, “‘Tis a struggle in vain, I’m afraid. I’ve no doubt that any coin we might make of him will simply end up at the bottom of his bottle. I’m of no mind to stitch his trousers and wipe his tables, as it’s clear he so desperately desires a mother to take care of him.”

 

“I’m a grown man,” the drunkard mumbled, as he stumbled face-first into the sand.

 

Erin nodded with a sigh and sheathed her blade, shaking out some of the sand in her shoes— there had been no new pairs in the warehouse, and so she still resorted to squared toes and curved heels that made walking in the sand a bit of a nightmare. No matter the masculinity of her gait, she wobbled until her feet met solid ground. Abby had simply tossed her own pair, figuring she might come across a pair of boots when they took to a new ship. 

 

  


 

The second attempt seemed far more likely, as they followed a crowd of privateers (not to be confused with pirates) towards a pair of captains writing down names for payroll, the accepted sailors then walking onto the frigates at the end of the dock and helping load ammunition onto the ship. Erin and Abby followed their lead to the table.

 

One moment passed, like waiting for a broken clock to finally tick, and the captains glanced up. They let out laughs that sank both women’s hearts as anchors through oceans.

 

“Surely you cannot be serious?” the one on the right smiled, with amusement plastered all over his face.

 

The other captain lowered his quill, “It’s already bad luck to bring a woman on board, but to suggest women join us? Ye must be mad!”

 

Abby slammed her hand down on the table, wincing ever so slightly at the splinters, “Listen, we’ve been captured, we’ve smuggled an entire ship into Kingston, we’ve survived a battle against a Spanish fleet, and we have undergone weapons training. We’re more qualified than half the drunkards here, and we can read and write! You’d have no need to search for a cartographer ever again!”

 

The captain on the right gave them both a smug expression and sighed, “But you’ll just bring too much temptation to the men— they’ll be distracted during the voyages!”

 

“No more than the sun or the gulls, shrieking and shitting everywhere!”

 

“Abby! Watch your profanity!”

 

Even the captains looked a little shocked at hearing a woman swear, nervously glancing at each other before slumping a little in their chairs, “Perhaps we might take you aboard… but you’ll earn no more than six silver pieces a day, you hear?”

 

“What do the rest of them make?” Erin frowned.

 

“None of your business, miss. If you’re going to keep enquiring, we shant take you as crew.”

 

Abby snatched the record book out of his hands— ignoring his spluttering about private property — and studied the recent pages, snapping the book shut and laughing almost instantly. She tossed it towards some of the other sailors;

 

“They were going to pay us half of what you earn, and you all are going to only earn a twentieth of what these shams make.”

 

The sailors began crowding around the book like eager crows, a young lad who could read piping up and confirming what the women had proclaimed. Slowly, the line dispersed with sour faces, and the privateer captains looked absolutely dejected at the prospect that they wouldn’t be able to hire any more employees.

 

“We’ll not be welcome back on those docks,” Erin giggled.

 

Abby threw the record book into the water with frustration, where it washed up on the sand moments later. A gull landed and attempted to pick at it for lunch. The both of them wandered up towards where sand met grass and turned into road— silently but unanimously agreeing to waste the last of their coin on drinks. A pleasant mixture of singing and instruments flowed off the balcony of the pub like a musical waterfall, enticing Erin up the steps as her legs began to give out after a day of wandering around the city.

 

Much to their surprise, they found familiar faces among the tables of pirates.

 

 

“Erin Gilbert! Abigail Yates! You’re still alive after a tour de Nassau!”

 

Pat the sailor was sitting at a table, hosting a drunk pirate for company. Upon further inspection, as the women drew near, they realized that the inebriated sailor was none other than Kevin Beckman— the Quartermaster of the Hallowed Falcon.

 

“Pat! It’s good to see you,” Abby smiled, asking the young servant to bring beer to their table. “Have you found work?”

 

“Aye, I’m to sign on with Crimson, as you suggested,” the sailor smiled. “I’ve gone over the terms and conditions of my employment with this fellow—  quite a bit of alcohol was involved in the negotiations, as you can see. But, I’ll serve on the ship as helmswoman so long as I don’t have to kill anyone. It was… an issue of morality rather than capability.”

 

“There’s no need to explain,” Erin gently said, tipping the bottle up and allowing the beer to flow down her throat.

 

“Well, at least I can still have a life at sea. The pay is decent enough, and even if I were to be captured by the Spanish or the British, I have no family to think of when I’m up at the gallows,” Pat laughed.

 

Beckman hooted and hollered at this, “You can’t capture the Hallowed Falcon! We’re the unsinkable frigate of the West Indies!”

 

“Do the officers recognize it from a distance?” Abby asked, suddenly interested in Beckman’s knowledge.

 

“Well… it’d be hard not to. Feared, we are.”

 

“And is it difficult to obtain crew on such a famous ship?”

 

Beckman giggled in his intoxicated state, “Not at all, they crowd at the docks when we begin hiring. Men work for a fair wage and ask little questions.”

 

Abby’s fingers tapped on the glass bottle for a few seconds, “And… uh… your captain… he’s not aboard the vessel at this moment, is he?”

 

“No, goodness, no! He has his own house on the outskirts of Nassau. A beautiful place, more fit for a family than a single man!”

 

Patty thrust another drink into Beckman’s hands and scooted closer to the other women, “What are ye thinking? Why this curiosity?”

 

Erin turned to her best friend, “You’re not seriously thinking what I think you are? Eh?”

 

“I’m thinking that Beckman harbors the intelligence of a plant, and that no one is on the Hallowed Falcon. We could steal away with the ship before Crimson even spots us from his house. He’d be stuck here and we could start a new crew, keeping Beckman along as management.”

 

Pat’s eyes went wide, “But if Crimson did spot us, we’d be murdered for sure.”

 

“Which is why we have to do it now! Think about it, we’d be the fiercest women pirates on the globe!”

 

“The wha?” Beckman said, “The Earth isn’t a sphere! Tis flat as a map!”

 

They ignored him, and Erin finished her drink, wiping off her mouth with her sleeve— as a man might. She tied back her hair with a spare bit of ribbon in her pocket and stood up.

 

“Ladies… and the gent… I propose we capture a ship.”

 

Pat looked a little skeptical. Abigail seemed absolutely thrilled and determined. Beckman was drunk, glassy eyed as he attempted to follow their conversation. He had no reason to perform mutiny upon Doctor Crimson, yet looked excited to join in on whatever antics the women had planned. The other women stood from their chairs and pulled the pirate to his feet, Pat looping one of his arms over her shoulder and hoisting him upright with the strength of three grown men. Abby led the way, followed by the stumbling pair, and Erin took up the rear as she paid for the drinks.

 

She didn’t even notice the mysterious Holtzmann observing her from a shadowy corner of the pub

 

  


 

“Where are we going?” Beckman hiccoughed.

 

Pat pulled him along, “Taking you back to your ship.”

 

“That’s awfully nice of you three…”

 

“It’s no bother,” Abby murmured, glancing over her shoulder to see if they were being followed, “We’ll just need you to let us onboard so we might let you into your quarters.”

 

“Oh, of course!”

 

The docks were unnaturally quiet, and the city seemed a little too void of nighttime life. Erin’s heart shook every instance when one of them stepped on a creaky plank, and more than once Beckman nearly tripped over a tangle of ropes and into the drink. They had to be careful, calculated if they wished to stealthily capture the Hallowed Falcon.

 

The sailor guarding the railing to the frigate in question was one of the old crewmembers of the Aphrodite; a young, jittery lad named Garret. He instantly grabbed his musket, quaking a little in his boots.

 

“We’re just taking Master Beckman to bed, friend,” Pat declared.

 

“Um… why are there so many of you to escort him?” the lad stammered, quickly planting himself in the middle of the ramp.

 

Abigail and Pat were about to come up with a respectable answer, but Erin beat them to the punch, “We’re planning on enjoying a night of fun, if you really must be so intrusive. We’ve already consumed the alcohol and had a bit of dancing, now we’re going to retire to this lovely gentleman’s bed.”

 

Garret, confused, lowered his musket for a moment, “I thought Beckman prefered the company of m—” 

 

“I’m tired!” Beckman complained. “Let us pass, welp!”

 

At the quartermaster’s command, the poor lad jumped to the side and nearly fell backwards into the bay as the women tromped up the ramp. Success. Finally aboard the ship and bringing their plan to a completion— Erin let the silence of the ship, apart from the occasional creak as it swayed in the water, signal the absence of pirates.  

 

“Pat, give us commands!”

 

“We really shouldn’t have done this without a proper crew,” the helmswoman grumbled, beginning to order them on which lines to tie off and which ones to let loose. It took Erin a few minutes to realize that a sheet did not, in fact, refer to a set of linens aboard the ship. Within fifteen minutes— Garret dozing off on the docks below— the three women and a drunken pirate were ready to set sail.

 

Beckman had begun to sober up, but he didn’t question why they were sailing without the captain, merrily following Pat’s orders as though she had hired him, and not the other way around. 

 

“I think we’re forgetting someone,” he mumbled, “but I can’t put my finger on it.”

 

As they were about to push the boat away from the docks, a curious happening thrust itself upon their persons— a fog, a thick fog of silver color. It crawled over the wooden railings as a slug or worm might, and the women didn’t even notice it in their excitement of stealing away with a frigate. It was only when Erin glanced down at the deck that she noticed it; by then it was too late.

 

She made the mistake of breathing in, her anxiety forcing her to take in a deep breath of the substance. ‘Twas as though she were breathing in a drug that clouded her brain and wobbled her legs within seconds. A hand was offered to her and she gripped it with gratitude, glancing upwards and realizing with a start that Doctor Crismon was keeping her steady. His efforts were in vain as she lost consciousness, and she felt nothing but confusion at the expression on his face. ‘Twas that of amusement. 

 

 


	8. No One Can Blame You for Walking Away

Regret— that much she could remember. The previous night seeped into her memories like a thick syrup, drizzling over her conscious.  

 

One eye opened, then the other, as though she were propping a window for fresh air. Oh, she let out a sleepy groan and snuggled further into the pillow, slowly realizing that it was… wiggling. Erin sat up and screamed as a fish swam away in panic. Swam?? Erin pulled the covers of her bed off, realizing with a disgusted squeak that the linens were actually seaweed. The room, sure enough, was underwater, but when she breathed in she felt neither water nor air.

 

She could taste the salt, though, and that particular flavor of ocean that isn’t anything in particular but the aroma of soggy organic matter. 

 

Erin was dreaming. That much she was sure of, and it must’ve been an extraordinary slumber; for when one is dreaming, one isn’t particularly aware that they are doing so. But she felt a great confusion. What in the King’s name was she doing underwater?! Erin may have harbored a love for the open ocean, but to sit at the bottom of it wasn’t a particular fantasy of hers. She winced as she made her way, barefoot, over a floor made of coral and barnacles— that eventually turned to sand, much to her pleasure, but she still took great care to avoid the occasional starfish.

 

“Where am I?”

 

Something nagged in the back of her head, as though a person was prompting her to find out for herself. Erin walked around rocks the size of houses and through a forest of kelp. She was not sure where to go, and yet entirely certain that this direction would reveal her goal. It was a worrying instinct, and unfamiliar in its purpose. 

 

The person, or voice, in her head guided her over a hill of sand— and she gripped a rock covered in muscles to pull herself towards proper viewing of her target.

 

London. Or rather, some sort of underwater fantasy where her hometown might be the setting. ‘Twas certainly as dreary, what little light filtered in with heavenly-looking rays through the ocean reconstructed a perfect representation of the lack of sunlight in her native home. That, and the presence of the water itself brought a shiver and a stench not unfamiliar to the ocean-side ports she played in as a child.  

 

Up there somewhere, the surface of the water served as a ceiling, rippling and distorting the shadows that fell upon the buildings and streets. No matter how much she will it, however, she could not swim; subject to walk along the floor of the ocean as though a cannonball were chained to her ankle.

 

As she walked, she let her hands fall into the pockets of her trousers; her gait slowly shifting from a middle-class ladies’ preening strut to an excited schoolboy trouncing around with his friends as he heads home. Erin was curious about the world around her, and for once  **_she_ ** was the one who would be getting to ask questions and make observations. 

 

“This is a great madness I am experiencing,” she wondered aloud. It brought her surprise that she could speak underwater, yet she reminded herself that anything could happen in a dream.

 

Erin took her time strolling through the streets, admiring the way fossils made up the cobblestones and tiny white bubbles arose from the chimneys of houses rather than the usual thick black smoke. ‘Twas void of people, but abundant in aquatic life. From whales to sharks to tiny minnows, all swam above the buildings, and even the more tropical fish, with their stripes and their spikes, darted through open windows and doors. Mercantile carts lay abandoned along the sides of the streets, and she stopped to observe one covered in anemone teeter back and forth with the current. An eel wrapped itself around a lamppost, it’s eyes giving Erin an unnerving glare. She felt cold, too. 

 

It truly looked as though London had been here for quite some time, simply rotting in its sunken place.

 

Eventually came the moment where she began recognizing the streets she grew up on in childhood, wandering down them and letting familiarity guide her. Erin’s hand rested on an algae infested fence, glancing upwards. Her home, rather, her parent’s house. It looked as beautiful as ever, even in this underwater realm. A flounder lazily flopped around on the rooftop, and other than the sand dollars all over her mother’s garden and the seastars stuck to the windows… it looked just the same as she’d left it. 

 

The textile merchant rested a hand on the door knob. She wasn’t truly sure if she wanted to go back inside, back into a world where she was  **_controlled_ ** . Then the door opened of its own accord.

 

That little voice guided her still, pushing her to relive a memory. For the sake of whom, she was not quite sure. Yet she would obey. 

 

Erin walked inside, and instantly regretted it. Her parents were comfortably sitting at armchairs beside the fireplace; her mother sewing and her father shining his work shoes. She wasn’t sure how to approach the nearing conversation she suspected this dream contained, and thus subjected herself to sit on the sofa. 

 

They were wearing their everyday, daytime clothes— just as she’d left them. Mother donned a close bodied gown, with a pleated back and a matching petticoat underneath. Her father had only his work apron, made of stiff leather that cracked and peeled because he never cared enough about his garments to maintain them— simply purchasing new ones to replace the old like the upperclassman he was. His long black coat, with the golden fittings on the hems, hung by the door, waiting for the servants to fetch it.  

 

“You’re looking thinner,” her mother commented. Nevermind that the woman hadn’t even glanced up from her cross-stitch (made of seaweed, woven together to forge a pattern of a church). “Are you earning enough to buy proper meals?”

 

“Really ought to give up that endeavor and return here. You’re a natural at being a merchant, but that just isn’t the environment to safely make honest coin, dear,” her father continued.

 

Erin remained silent, picking at an urchin stuck to a pillow.

 

“Have you found a husband yet? You’re of age to settle down, you know! Have a few kids and pas son the family name— it’s time, Erin. We’ve come across a few suitors for when you return, including a lad of noble descent who seemed very interesting in that painting we have of you. Came over for a fitting of a new pair of stockings, custom made for a ball. He seemed a little baffled at the prospect that you were in the West Indies— oh, I do wish you’d do away with that place!” 

 

“What’s wrong with England, anyways?” Her father lit his pipe, but only bubbles arose from it. He sighed, “There’s plenty of business opportunity here!”

 

Finally, the little voice that’d been guiding her… prompted Erin to stand up for herself.

 

“I like the sun, the water, the unfathomable jungles and animals. There are more colors on an island alone than either of you have seen in the Kingdom, in your whole life!” Erin protested.

 

“Too much stimulation can be unhealthy for a woman,” her mother huffed. “You’ve a nervous depression, a slight hysterical tendency.”

 

She rolled her eyes, “I’ve never been happier! Did you consider that? I don’t want to be a merchant! It’s boring, and stuffy, and you never truly feel satisfied with what you earn— knowing that you could have made a little more if you’d just pushed a little further. Counting pieces of silver, hunched over a counter? Stuck inside an office while the rest of the world leaps and dances and plays outside your window? Taxation stealing away with what little you had in the first place? Sniveling and groveling to the betters in your field? I’ll have no part in that!”

 

“But it’s what our family has done for generations! It’s how we survive!”

 

“It’s not survival, mother,” Erin said, shaking her head, “‘Tis accepted madness, and a sorrowful place to stick my nose. Someday you’ll read of my death in the paper; where I’ll have washed up on an abandoned island, or hang’d at the gallows, even! I’ll not return here and die of miserable plague, doting on a husband for the rest of my days.”

 

“What nonsense are you going on about?” her father asked.

 

Erin picked at her clothes; now the furthest thing from the feminine attire that she’d departed London in. No longer did lace and frill run across her bosom and down her arms, but now buttons and snaps donned her body to signify physical labor. Work! She sought a proper men’s career! She was dressed to fight and sail and not give a bother about the Crown’s holy word. 

 

When she looked up from her fidgeting, her parents held worried looks— an emotion that Erin had come to recognize as disapproval rather than a parent’s love. ‘Twas a glance that she hated to see, and now that her life was in her hands… she would see it no more.  

 

“I’m going to be a pirate. I’m never living the life of a merchant again.”

 

Her mother set the cross stitch pattern down on an end table and dug her nails into the wooden railings of her chair. Erin’s father, on the other hand, violently threw his pipe into the fireplace (yet, as it was underwater, naught happened). She smiled something wick’d and let the excitement of defying her parents overwhelm her. 

 

“And how could you possibly begin a career in that?”

 

“I’m not sure yet, but there are wonders all over the West Indies that you couldn’t comprehend. Magic, even.”

 

Her father sputtered, “Stop that, we thought we squashed that nonsense out of you as a child.”

 

“I’ve always kept my believe in magic and ghosts,” Erin huffed, smiling wide and fearless, “I let you take me to the church that I might avoid the stake’s flames, but I never swallowed that which the priests and the bible tried to teach me. I knew, I always knew that magic was out there— and I was right!”

 

“No!”

 

“Yes! He can conjure lightning with a mere wink and open doors to jungles with a snap of his fingers. And surely he’s not the only one! I’ll be the first to document the witches and wizards, to write of sciences and magics and all things that the churches fear,” Erin laughed. “Let them burn me, but they’ll never burn the truth!”

 

She stood from her chair and walked out of the parlor, stopping near the door to turn and memorize this dream’d version of her parents. Dropped jaws and wide eyes met her, forcing the lass to stifle her insolent giggles. 

 

“I’m never going back to England, I can assure you that. Thus, I bid you a goodbye.”

 

Doctor Crimson was waiting for her outside the door.

 

  


 

“Am I truly dreaming, then? If you’re here?” Erin asked, as they strolled down the underwater streets of London.

 

“Yes, and no,” the german man admitted. He shrugged his shoulders as he said so, “I manipulate ‘vat I need to, in order to get you to confess your feelings. A simple, yet clever magic. This is all within your head, yet is not so much of a dream that you cannot control yourself. You said ‘vat your wanted to say to your parents.”

 

Erin took a deep breath, staring at the algae-covered street in front of them, “I did.”

 

“For once they did not hear ‘vat they wanted to hear.”

 

“Thank you,” she meekly mumbled.

 

Crimson let out one of those combinations of a laugh and a smile, gracefully leading her towards a staircase that dropped to the edge of the river. They observed fish swimming back and forth; the only humans in this sunken London. 

 

“‘Twas a trickster move— attempting to steal my property.”

 

Erin dreaded this, her anxiety forcing her lungs to gasp for air, “I… I thought I could get away with it.”

 

“I’m more observant than you give me credit for. I’ll admit, I thought Beckman might be more level-headed than that; but the man doesn’t have much of a stomach for handling alcohol. He’s on swabbing duty for a month.”

 

“You’re… you’re not going to kill us, are you?”

 

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Crimson shake his head, “I’ve no desire for such barbarism. In fact… I like your sense of initiative. I want to see what journeys this world, a world that has seemed so against you, might lead you and your friends. Critical thinking, and an eye for opportunity despite the danger that might present itself. The ability to charm your way through a situation… you’ll do nicely.”

 

“Come again?”

 

“Did you not just proclaim a life of piracy to your kin?”

 

Erin sputtered, “But… no one has accepted Abby or I for employment. We searched all around Nassau!”

 

“Well… it would seem you’re in a little bit of a situation… I would even go as far as to suggest that you owe me a debt for nearly robbing me of my boat. Thus… one might suggest indentured servitude as repayment?”

 

“You sunk my boat first!”

 

Crimson shrugged, “I’m a proper pirate. I could teach you how to do that to others. How to get whatever you want in life. You could be a queen throughout the West Indies; and your friends, of course.”

 

“What’s the catch?”

 

“No catch, Miss Gilbert. I’ll forgive you for this instance if you work for me, that’s all.”

 

A hammerhead lazily floated over the rooftops, many smaller fish passing him by without second thought. Erin glanced at the predator for a few moments before Crimson pointed it out.

 

“Just as a shark can only feed if it is fast enough to catch the prey in time, you’ll only prosper if you catch the correct opportunity when and only when it presents itself. I doubt you’ll get another offer like this, and I promise all that I am worth that my men will not treat you any different for being women. I suspect you’ll fight better than most of them, the drunkards that they are.”

 

Erin felt something at her hip, glancing down. The pistol that Crimson had given her before was rotted through, the metal components rusted and gross. He gently pulled the pistol out of her scarf-holster and inspected it, holding it up to what light filtered through the ocean water and sighing.

 

“‘Twas never a true pistol to begin with, and I apologize for that; I couldn’t risk you firing it at my crew in panic.”

 

“Do you trust me at all?”

 

Something in her had prompted to rest a hand on his shoulder, the touch bringing an electricity to her fingertips. His shirt was the only clean, dry thing in this underwater realm, and she clung to it with interest. Underneath the fabric, she could feel the warmth and strength of his muscles, and willed everything not to gasp at the contact.

 

Crimson lit the pistol on fire with his hand, even though they were underwater, reminding Erin that she was still dreaming, “I plan on doing so, in the future. Pirates aren’t keen on earning their share, yet I think you might end up doing so with my trust.”

 

The weapon burnt away in his hand, becoming a smoldering ruin. Then, as though it were a plant slowly blooming, the flintlock’s metal began to unravel and change shape, becoming whole once more. Wood filled the hollow portions and the gun became anew. Cleaned up and in far superior shape than the prior pistol he’d given her. Crimson aimed the weapon at a lamppost and fired it, the dream allowing her belief to suspend as the shot shattered glass and the  _ bang! _ resonated across the street. 

 

“Works like a charm now,” he smiled, tucking it back into her belt. 

 

In her interest to observe the magic, the two had moved even closer, and she could almost see another world pooling, no, swirling and dancing around in his blue eyes. She could almost count every hair on his beard, if she had the time, and wanted to reach out and feel it— because it looked too soft to actually belong to a man. Her breath changed pace, and she noticed that his did the same. She felt herself inspecting every intricate detail about him.

 

She wondered what Doctor Crimson was thinking, if he was indeed a sentient being in her own dream. What thoughts might a pirate have at this moment? Or a wizard, if that was how she ought to refer to him.

 

For a outlaw, he’d cleaned up during his period of relaxation in Nassau. To impress whom, she wasn’t sure. His teeth were cleaner, and his eyes did not seem as sunken in as they had when she’d first met the man. Even in this dreamy state, she could smell a perfume of sorts that pushed away the smell of Londonized ocean. 

 

Erin whispered, “Do you always burn things to a crisp to fix them?”

 

“Oh, ‘vell, I’m not a stranger to pyromancy… or… explosions in general. Most of the time they are accidental, however. I’m rather fond of experimenting with my magic; but the worst that ‘vill happen is… a medium sized… erm… how do you say it...  _ poof _ . At any rate, you have a proper weapon now, and I’ll teach you how to use it. I’ll teach you how to work the s—”

 

Erin’s head snapped as she found Crimson uncomfortably scratching his throat. He sighed and whispered something about his voice leaving, and quietly asked if she’d take him up on his offer. She nodded, and the dream— this beautiful underwater London— went black. 

 

 

There was a great disappointment in her heart, as though she’d missed an opportunity, despite gaining one.

 

She woke up in a bunk aboard the Hallowed Falcon with a pistol in her hand, and a determination in her heart. Abigail and Pat anxiously awaited what words would exit her mouth, but Erin simply laid there, thinking of the marvelous dream that she wished to keep to herself. What parts of it had been real— surely the conversation with her parents had been forged, yet the gun in her hands was a direct replica of the one Crimson had fashioned. She quickly got up, not caring that she only wore a clean blouse and trousers, fled past her friends, up the galley stairs, and onto the deck.

 

The crew all gave her queer, but welcoming looks. It was obvious that Crimson (who was nowhere to be found) had told them of the women’s newfound employment. Beckman looked a little glum as he washed the windows to the cabin. Erin let the fresh ocean air fill her lungs and glanced at the nearing horizon— the Hallowed Falcon slowly leaving Nassau.

 

Finally. Finally, she was to be a pirate. Finally, the world was to fear her, instead of the opposite.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh.... ooooooooooh! We're getting somewhere with the missus, Doctor, aren't we? I'm having too much fun with this, and you know it.
> 
> As always, don't forget to like and subscribe. Wait... that's not this website... oh well, catch you later!


	9. J & H

 

Pat knew the basics, but for the first few days, Erin and Abby were lost as children aboard the Hallowed Falcon. It took them half the morning to remember the difference between port and starboard, and the other pirates aboard the ship merely watched them stumble around with amusement. At least they looked the part, with their swords, pistols, and trousers. Beckman had found the both of them suitable pairs of boots to work with, advising them to keep their feet as dry as possible. 

 

“Easy,” Beckman sighed, pulling Erin upright after a swell had sent the boat tilting. She brushed herself off and followed him to tighten various lines around cleats. At first, she didn’t quite understand what she was supposed to be doing, tying bows as best she could and hoping her dainty knots were enough to keep the sheets in place. Pirates would come along and sigh, undoing her work and repeatedly teaching her the correct way to fasten ropes together. 

 

Patience, even in a realm of pirates. Who would have thought?

 

Erin loved practicing her swordplay against the other pirates, even though they had yet to come across a ship worth scuttling. Most schooners and merchant boats took to paying Doctor Crimson a protection fee in exchange for safe passage, and were escorted to whatever nearest port they needed to go by the Captain. 

 

It wasn’t terribly exciting, but at night, when the crew took to dancing with each other or playing games of court. Beckman or one of the other officers would play the judge as the pirates pretended to be lawyers and criminals. Surprisingly, Abby took to challenging each of them with her extensive study of the King’s law, and became a popular opponent for the boys to duel. They were all smarter than Erin gave her credit for. She’d always assumed pirates to be the country bumkins of the sea, but these men adopted a new sort of logic to their arguments that she hadn’t really seen in England. It didn’t even matter that most of them couldn’t read, they would make up new rules in the bible to challenge each other in “court” (rules that Erin began to prefer); her favorite thus far was, _ ‘thou shalt not sit upon the barrel that has been tainted with the blood of lionfish, but a barrel full of eels may serve as replacement! If a pirate has sat upon a barrel of lionfish, he must dangle from the ship’s boom by his shoulder for no less than sunrise to sundown while Doctor Crimson sings in his native tongue. This is the will of the lord!’ _

 

Crimson’s search for Filmore and the priceless map… had gone cold. So, they all set their sights on more attainable goals.

 

The hour came that they encountered a brig transporting molasses and rum, fresh off a plantation. Many of the pirates had escaped from such places, eager to rob former slave masters of their fortunes _.  _ Not only could sugar and other goods be sold for a terrifically impressive amount, but they would often encounter captives below deck that were more than happy to renounce a plantation slavery for the freedom of piracy. The captain required none of them to stay, and was more than happy to ferry them to Nassau and such. 

 

Fights were terrifying. Abby had picked up the swordplay pretty quickly, and Patty had already been trained by her father and uncle. Both of them would swing across with the other pirates when boarding and duel to disarm, but Erin stayed behind. She didn’t know if it was a cowardice, but someone had to defend the ship, no? If Crimson or the other pirates noticed, they said naught. In the meantime, she and Abigail acted as navigators, analyzing what maps Crimson had and charting courses through rocky cliff passes and narrow channels to avoid British and Spanish forts and patrols. She began keeping a journal of all the navy habits that the pirates discussed, compiling a psychology of sorts based on imprisonments, escapes, and in some cases time that the sailors had spent in the Navies.

 

Plus, the cabin was cold. Impossibly cooled from the hot summer sun and tropical humidity that sometimes seemed to absorb the air from Erin’s lungs and replace it with warm water. The more time she spent in his cabin, hunched over a table with a quill tickling her nose as she attempted to measure which route to Havana or San Domingue was the quickest, the healthier she felt.

  
  


  


  
  


After a raid on a ship, her tucking her unused sword back into its sheath and pushing into the cabin, she began plotting a two-day course to Cayman Island, having received some documents off the recent target that described a harbor full of merchants. Crimson’s orders were to get close enough to Cayman Island to scout the fleet and then possibly share the information with other allied captains on the southern side of Cuba. Maximizing firepower could only go wrong if someone was to betray them, but Crimson and the Hallowed Falcon were simply too intimidating to dare cross (the women aboard were the exception, but only because they were fools).

 

At any rate, she was just about calmed down from the heat of the battle when the door swung open. Crimson plopped his hat on her head and jumped into his favorite chair; Ozahn the ocelot slithering up beside the armrests and rubbing his head against the captain’s hand in demands for affection. Erin pushed the brim up and gave him a sneer; though she wasn’t very coordinated and ended up simply crinkling her nose in his direction.

 

“What grand plans this evening, captain? Shall we sail to Illyria and fall in love with Dukes and Countesses? Perchance we might find ourselves in the company of your equally magical rival, Prospero?”

 

Doctor Crimson appeared confused at these statements, lighting his pipe and taking a puff. His eyes stared straight at hers, yet looked lost as he struggled to make light of the references. To prompt him, Erin pointed at the bookshelf, where several plays written by William Shakespeare and bound with fine leathers rested. Crimson squirmed uncomfortably and turned to look at the bookshelf.

 

“I would assume, in the boredom of a hot summer’s day such as this, one might take the time to open an adventure written in ink.”

 

Crimson nodded slowly, but Erin followed his eyes. The plays written by Shakespeare were at the bottom of the bookshelf, and Crimson’s glance was focused near the top. It took her a slow moment, as he glanced down in shame, to realize what was amiss.

 

“Can you not read?”

 

He pulled one of his magic playing cards out of his breast pocket and fiddled with it, then glancing up like a child who’d just smashed a plate. There was a mixture of anger and pout on his face.

 

“Never really needed to know how,” he mumbled.

 

Erin cocked her head to the side in confusion, “But you walk of noble stature, you speak of intellectual possibilities, and you study and experiment with magic itself! How do you lack the education?”

 

Crimson coughed, “Well… I’m sure you’ve heard a few rumors. That I am the dau — son of a witch. She taught me magic, of course, but just as I had to give up part of my voice in order to learn magic, she had to give up her ability to read. When I was born, she couldn’t teach that to me. I learned mathematics, with their angular symbols and equations. I learned how to draw, with a feather’s touch for fingers. I listened to her lectures of the sciences, but neither of us could write anything down.”

 

“And you never sought lessons?”

 

He let out a scoff, “A grown man seeking tutoring on reading in the West Indies? The amount of literate people in this region couldn’t even fill a dining room.”

 

Erin’s gaze had glazed over, her brain beginning to work. All of a sudden, she cleared everything off the desk in one fell swoop, scaring the ocelot into hiding in his bed. Crimson, too, was startled enough to put both of his feet on the floor and sit upright in his chair. She then tugged him by the ear.

 

“Come on, up you go!”

 

He let out a yelp, “What are you— unhand me, woman!”

 

“I’m going to teach you how to read, so I want you to stand up and put every ounce of energy into it! Stand up!”

 

Crimson’s jaw dropped, “You’re going to teach me— a famed monster of the seas— how to read? For what cost?”

 

“As a gift, you lout,” she smirked. “My only regret is that I can’t teach you how to read in German. What with the umlaut and all. We start with the letter ‘A’. Follow my handwriting.”

 

He picked the quill out of her hand, her skin tingling with a light electricity when it came in contact with his fingers, and struggled to push the tip down on the page of her journal. His hands were terribly shaky, and the first attempt of an ‘A’ looked more like a child’s drawing of a house. It would be awhile before she could teach him proper cursive.

 

“Can you name a word that starts with the letter ‘A’?” she smiled, glancing into his pale blue eyes.

 

Soft, they were, and the further she looked the less it seemed like there were dark circles under them; the smoother and younger his face began to look. Even his hair was beginning to look a little blonder than usual, as though his face were experiencing its own springtime. She wondered if magic were afoot. His nose didn’t look as crooked as usual, his lips slightly redder. More… boyish? No, that wasn’t the right word. 

 

“Erin.”

 

His voice was softer than she’d ever heard it, as though a young lad were speaking to her. Crimson’s eyes went wide and he coughed into his sleeve. She didn’t understand why he’d said her name, and touched his free hand in concern;

 

“What is it?”

 

Crimson shrugged, “Erin starts with an ‘A’, right? That’s the sound it makes?”

 

Then he shook his head, his face scrunching up. His face looked older now, with more sharp edges and a few wrinkles; she wondered if he used magic to mask his rumored age, but that didn’t seem quite right. She leaned back, confused if he’d just let his guard down, or if he’d put a metaphorical barrier up. Erin shook her head;

 

“No, it starts with an ‘E’... for everything I could ever want.”

 

Crimson’s eyes looked a little playful, “And what is it you want?”

 

“I am unsure. I suppose the opportunity will present itself in time. Or did you mean something different entirely?”

 

“No. I am content enough with any answer you give me. Now and forever, Miss Gilbert Erin Gilbert.”

 

“Answer. Answer starts with an ‘A’.”

 

“Oh,” he mumbled, “C-Can you write it down for me?”

 

She did so, and his shaky hands pushed down on the paper to copy her words. The silent ‘w’ confused him to an infinite extent, and she realized just how much of an education he was missing. 

 

They spent the whole afternoon there, moving to the chairs for comfort after Erin had made a table out of a crate that Crimson had been resting his foot on earlier. They managed to get through half the alphabet, with the man carefully repeating her quill strokes and messing up more than once. His pronunciations were a little silly, too, but for some reason he seemed awfully fixated on two letters; J and H. 

 

She watched his eyes trace the playful curve of the J’s hook, and the right angles of the H’s concrete appearance. He was mesmerized, repeating those two sounds over and over, mumbling two words that started with those letters under his breath. 

 

“A-Are you sure you don’t want to be paid for this?” he nervously asked, as they headed out of the cabin for dinner in a small port town on the Isla de la Juventud. “I have the money for it, if you want.”

 

She clapped him on the back, the way the other pirates did to each other. It was the first time she’d ever done that to someone (obviously, by the way Crimson grunted), forsaking her usual feminine attitude and laughing. She was ready to join her newfound friends in the crew in drinking and singing and all manner of a man’s activities.

 

“It’s a gift! Haven’t you ever been given something before?” she joked.

 

Crimson shyly looked to the ground and muttered out a “no”, and Erin realized the stupidity of her statement. Of course a pirate wasn’t given gifts, he took whatever he wanted and didn’t look back. But… one couldn’t really steal the knowledge of reading, could they? She squeezed his arm.

 

“A gift, Crimson, is not something to be ashamed of.”

 

It took him a moment, the two of them standing on the docks while the other sailors weaved around them on their way to the pubs. Even Abigail and Pat gave them curious looks and gestured them both to be on their way, but Erin wished to hear whatever the captain had to say.

 

“Th… Thank you,” he whispered.

 

She wondered if he’d ever said such words before and truly meant them, and a part of her felt a little honored, a little privileged, even, to hear them. Not many women in the world had a pirate’s gratitude, but Erin Gilbert was one.

 

“Don’t get too pissed at the bars, Captain,” she smirked, “Tomorrow the lessons continue.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is slightly shorter, I wanted to post it before I headed to class. Gosh I have so much fun with these two. Also I apologize for a Pat/Abby/Kev-light chapter. We'll see some more of them, I promise. 
> 
> Leeeeeeeeeaaaaaaavvvvveeee comments!


	10. The Marksmanship of Erin Gilbert

 

“You’re looking rather close to the captain these days,” Pat commented, as Erin slid into the women’s quarters after an evening of reading lessons.

 

The women’s quarters was where the doctor’s room was supposed to be on the ship, with a porthole for ventilation and a small pot of flowers that Abigail had purchased in Nassau. There were four bunk beds, Erin and Abby sharing one and pat using the spare bunk above her own for her growing book collection― pretentious captains of Spanish and English galleys who collected the newest novels in Europe were more than happy to part with every item in their ship so long as Crimson spared their lives. Pat could read and speak in Spanish as well as English, and more than once she corrected Erin whenever the former merchant attempted to speak with crewmates in their natural tongue. There was even an instance where Erin almost got into a bar fight, insisting that she was attempting to compliment a pirate on his outfit and instead insulting his family.

 

The beds were a stiff wood that one would expect of a ship, but they had access to the finest linens from raids and scuttling. They got used to the smell of the sea, and even preferred it to the stink of Nassau. When you got far enough away from shore, the ocean even smelled a little clean.

 

These were the adventures she’d been dreaming of for decades.

 

“Acquaintances, no more,” Erin shyly mumbled.

 

Pat glanced over the pages of her book and smiled, “Then where did you get that flower from?”

 

Her hands flew to the small token in her hair, a wildflower tucked behind her ear. A gift from Crimson, as payment for reading lessons today. She quickly pulled the flower off of her head and went to throw it away.

 

“Oh, don’t mistake my teasing for disapproval, Miss Gilbert. ‘Tis a pretty gift.”

 

Erin blushed and gently held the gift close to her, sitting down on Abigail’s bunk (her best friend was on night watch this week). She glanced up at Pat, who was lightly reading but still paying attention to Erin’s actions and emotions.

 

“He’s handsome, and really quite kind once you get to know him.”

 

Pat smirked and turned a page, “Aye, I think Abby is softening up to him as well. Minding that he’s a pirate, I don’t think you need to stray away from his affections.”

 

“Oh, they’re not affections, merely gratitude.”

 

“Well he showers Beckman with no flowers for following him around like a worshipping puppy,” Pat said.

 

Erin stood and ran her fingers through her hair.

 

“Do you really think he likes me?”

 

Knowing that she’d get no sleep on this night, Pat tossed her book to the side and rolling out of her bunk. She put on her boots and said, “Of course. I almost wonder if he’d simply give you his ship if you were to ask.”

 

“Don’t be silly,” Erin smiled smacking Pat on the arm.

 

“I’m going to go keep Abigail company. But I leave you with the thought that Crimson truly shows emotion around you, and even if it weren’t a romantic affection, he really does care for you. Hold onto something like that, Erin.”

 

It was the first time that she’d heard Pat say her first name, and she felt warm when Pat’s hand rested on her shoulder for a moment― before the sailor shifted her father’s musket on her shoulder and headed out the women’s quarters.

 

She sat back down at the little round table in the middle of the quarters, letting the gentle roll of the ship match the unease in her stomach. She did feel an attraction to him, really who wouldn’t? But then she thought of all the times he’d playfully bickered with her, or the emotional walls he let down as he struggled to attach the words he spoke every day to symbols on a page. The true love painted on his face when they sailed downwind on a stretch of open ocean for miles, taking off his hat and letting the wind tussle his blond hair as though it were simply dancing on his head. The way he would play with Ozahn the Ocelot, using magic to turn arms and hands into stone so that the cat couldn’t scratch him while Crimson tickled his tummy.

 

For once, she couldn’t feel anxiety in her heart, but what felt like a perfectly still lake, or even a lazy creek in the summer time. Perhaps she adored the dreaded Doctor Crimson. Perhaps he wasn’t so dreaded after all.

 

Her head propped up by her hands on the table, she began to daydream about what it would be like to court a pirate.  

  


  


Her sword caught under the hilt of Abigail’s blade, her wrist instinctively twisting inwards and sending her best friend’s blade towards the ground. Erin felt a little stunned, as though an invisible hand had helped her out during the practice duel, but then she let out a whoop and danced around the deck.

 

“Someday I’ll be feared by the ocean,” she laughed.

 

Abigail picked up her sword off the deck and wiped the sweat off her brow, shaking her head, “That’s one time you’ve won... against _my_ twelve victories.”

 

“Oi, you’re a sore loser!”

 

“And you are a sore winner!”

 

Pat was napping on the railway, her trust in her own balance impressing Erin, with one ankle crossed over the other. The ocean was… calm. Too calm! There was naught a puff of wind to be found, and the pirates walked to and fro on the deck to join others in groups, playing games and singing songs of queens and mountains and the sea. Mostly the sea. The cook, a lad who went by Benny, was making his rounds with a basket full of biscuits. He kept tossing the brittle things into reluctant hands with complete confidence that his food was to die for. Erin took one to be kind and felt her tooth beginning to hurt when she bit down; for fear of chipping it, she backed up towards the railing and let it “slip” out of her hands and into the ocean below. She could wait until they docked at the next port to eat.

 

“Another round, then?” Abby asked.

 

A shadow crept up behind Erin, stealthy as a cat. She could see its owner extending a spyglass and inspecting the horizon.

 

“I’m afraid not,” Doctor Crimson said, “It would seem that we’ve earned a visit from good ‘ol Captain Charlie Warner.”

 

Erin tilted her head a little in confusion, “Who’s that?”

 

From the railing, Patty’s voice came in a muffled response. They asked her to repeat and she groggily lifted her head from her sleep, “He’s a pirate bounty hunter. Known all over the West Indies as an ally to the English and Spanish, if one faces off against him, they usually don’t live to tell the tale.”

 

“He’s tactical, I’ll give him that,” their captain noted, as he passed the spyglass to Erin, “Waiting until there wasn’t enough wind for us to escape, ambushing us in such a vulnerable state. And not an ally around to help us turn the tide, a shame. ALL HANDS ON DECK!”

 

As pirates scrambled around her, Erin raised the device to her eye, feeling Abigail and Pat brush past her to help the crew. Her view of the horizon was magnified, and she carefully scanned the ocean until she saw what Crimson had spotted moments earlier. A brig of massive and bulky structure gliding through the water on a puff of wind heading in from the northwest. ‘Twas too far away to see the crew members scrambling around to prepare for battle, but the speed it traveled and direction that the boat was headed (amidst an otherwise empty ocean) made it clear that they aimed to conquer.

 

Erin collapsed the telescope and stuffed it into her pocket, hurrying to help her fellow crewmates.

 

Several of the younger lads acted as go-betweens, fetching weapons and ammo for the cannons, running up and down the stairs that led to the lower levels of the Hallowed Falcon. Abby and Pat both tied and untied whatever knots were asked of them, and Erin made her way to the helm. She figured it would be best if she followed whatever direct orders Crimson gave her.

 

The captain had an angry look upon his face, contempt for anyone attempting to challenge his pride (such was reserved for fools like Erin).

 

“I’ll be damned if I lose a battle against the likes of a bounty hunter,” he muttered, as he took the helm away from a pirate.

 

Erin brushed past a few crew members and slid up next to him at the stern, “Ought you be more considerate of your men’s lives than your honor?”

 

“I am human enough, yes, but being defeated and captured by a pirate bounty hunter is a death all the same. Draw your sword, Miss Gilbert.”

 

“What?! I-I-I can’t fight!”

 

Crimson accepted a musket from Beckman and began loading it with bullets from a bag at his side. Erin’s fingers nervously drummed on the railing as she awaited what orders one might give her in a war.

 

She waited.

 

And waited.

 

And listened.

 

And didn’t understand at first what the loud _bang!_ was, coming from the direction of Charles Warner’s ship, and felt a little upset when she was slammed into the wooden flooring of the deck. Crimson’s elbow protectively shielded her face as hot splinters fell from the boom above their head. Her hands flew up to pull his arm away and gasp.

 

“Will you stop that!?!” she snapped.

 

Crimson’s head lifted enough for them to make eye contact (his twinkling with amusement, even in the midst of danger), His thick accent echoed close to her ears and in smug tone, “‘Vat? Saving your respected arse?”

 

“Oh, nevermind my arse, get off of me!”

 

Part of her instantly wished they might have a situation where they could keep lying h―

 

Now wasn’t the time for such thoughts!

 

Crimson did as Erin asked, and then held out his hand to help her up before barking an order to return fire. He picked up the musket and aimed for the bounty hunter’s ship as it began to draw near. Erin’s muscles tightened when the gun fired off so close to her person, and white smoke clouded her vision for a few seconds before it dissipated with the slight breeze that began picking up. With a start, she realized that she had grabbed the helm and was piloting the ship in what little wind they had. Erin let out a bit of a whimper.

 

“I haven’t a clue as to how to do this!” she said to Crimson.

 

He aimed the musket and fired a second shot, smashing a window in the cabin of the other ship. The others began readying their swords, firing cannons, and keeping grappling hooks from latching onto the railing of the Falcon. Pat and Abigail were beginning to fend off what bounty hunters had swung onto the deck of their ship― Erin could hear the crashing of metal clashing and dearly hoped that neither woman would be harmed in this battle.

 

Despite the gunfire and yelling of crewmates, her ears picked up a loud _thud!_ beside her. Erin slowly turned with her hands still glued to the wheel, to find a man who could only be the Captain Warner. His eyes were some sort of sickly amber, and Erin fumbled with the weapon at her waist as he approached.

 

“A woman aboard this fine vessel? No wonder today is not these pirates’ lucky day!” he sneered.

 

Erin managed to draw her sword just as he raised his own in the air.

 

“Nobody gets to bother Miss Gilbert but me!” Crimson laughed as he leapt from behind her, surprising Charlie Warner and engaging him in combat.

 

The bounty hunter quickly regained his footing and swung his sword towards the pirate’s head.

 

“Your rule of the seas ends here, dog!”

 

“Tell me, how much is Governor Bradley paying you to end me and my men? Ten thousand silver pieces? More? Or was it Admiral Hiess?”  


Erin instinctively ducked as both their swords collided with the wooden wheel, then Warner kicked Crimson in the… well… the groin and threw him into the stern’s railing. The pain wasn’t enough to deter the magical pirate, however, as he instantly leapt across the space with a laugh and tackled the bounty hunter. Erin had to do something.

 

She desperately searched the space closest to her, coming up with nothing. Were she to draw her sword, she would simply lose the duel, or worse interfere with Crimson’s talents. In her pockets was but a spyglass, absolutely useless in this moment. At her waist was… was…

 

The flintlock that Crimson had given her. She didn’t even know how to use it, really, but in the moment of desperation she let her instincts take over.

 

Instincts she didn’t even know she had.

 

Erin cocked the hammer on the pistol and aimed it towards the ship. She wasn’t even sure what was happening, but felt an invisible force guiding her hand just so. Hands that had never shot a bullet. Her eyes fell on a part of the ship that’d been blown away by cannonfire, revealing the store of gunpowder― the barrel of the flintlock seemed to point itself, and with her jaw clenched, she pulled the trigger.

 

She could almost see the bullet fly over the water, like a hawk diving for the kill.

 

The heat hit her, it seemed, before everything else.

 

Nevermind that the shock blew everyone backwards and rocked every fiber of the Hallowed Falcon, pushing the boat sideways from force alone. ‘Twas the heat that burned her cheeks and forced her eyes shut to protect themselves, let the burns blind her. Erin’s head rang with disorientation, forcing her to grip the wheel and take a deep breath.

 

All the bounty hunters, as they began to stand upright, dropped their swords upon realizing that their boat was sinking. Some began untying ropes on the Hallowed Falcon to throw to survivors of the explosion. Not that there were many. Their own pirates simply let them, flashing smirks of amusement at the turn of victory.

 

With the distraction, Doctor Crimson disarmed Captain Warner and pointed his own rapier at the man’s throat.

 

“I’m afraid my rule has been extended dear Charles.”

  
  


 

 

After they dropped Charles Warner and the portion of his crew that didn’t sign on to their own off on a nearby sandy shoal (warning them that they ought find a rescue before high tide), Crimson had them sail to a nearby island to bury their dead. He kept giving Erin a curious look, and she felt a little nervous.

 

Truth be told, she wasn’t sure how she’d managed to blow up an entire ship with one shot, but it had happened. She wondered if magic were involved, but ruled it out.

 

No.

 

It was a shot of luck.

 

A portion of the island was forest, and Beckman led a small party to bury three or four men, while the rest made repairs to the ship. Abigail and Pat stayed behind to tend to small wounds, and Crimson had Erin climb down into a small boat that he rowed to a sandbar. In the boat among their feet were a few bottles and a crate. And a musket. Once he pulled up to the beach, snugly perching the rowboat where it wouldn’t float away, he set up the crates while Erin swayed back and forth on the balls of her feet.

 

The captain sat on a log to remove his waterlogged boots and she did the same, letting her toes wiggle in soft sand, finally allowing herself to calm a little from the chaos of the sea battle.

 

“Take out your pistol, Miss Gilbert. And walk to the spot over there. When I say ‘fire’, I want you to turn and shoot the bottle upon the crate.”

 

“That tree, over there? ‘Tis too far, this pistol isn’t accurate enough!”  


Crimson lit a pipe and gave her a curious look, “True, the pistol I fashioned for you is as ordinary as beer at a festival. But I think you’ve a hidden talent.”

 

“This isn’t going to go anywhere,” Erin mumbled.

 

She walked fifty paces down the beach, standing underneath the cooling shade of a palm tree and fumbling with the pistol until she managed to load it the way Beckman had taught her. There was a soft growl in her throat when she let out a sigh, frustrated from not knowing why she’d managed to shoot so accurately on the ship.

 

“Fire!”

 

Erin spun around and felt the same force tug at her hand, aiming before her eyes had even settled on the bottle― her finger pulling the trigger before her brain even thought to fire the weapon.

 

Glass went flying everywhere, and Crimson laughed from his spot on a fallen log, clapping his hands as though she were a jester at court..

 

“I think you’re a natural at this!”

 

Erin gulped and shook her head, “It was a lucky shot.”

 

A new bottle floated out of the rowboat, across the beach, and onto the crate― Doctor Crimson’s fingers gently outstretched as he willed the glass to gently set down.

 

“Again.”

 

Erin gave him a huff and reloaded her pistol, turning around and taking a deep breath. She listened for his signal and whipped around far too quickly, the sand causing her to slip and fall just as her finger had pulled the trigger. She fell onto her ass and instantly looked up for fear that she’d shot the captain, only to find his jaw nearly dropp’d to the ground― his pipe having slipped out of his fingers as he stared at the crate.

 

“But… you slipped!” he marveled. “You weren’t even looking when your pistol shot!”

 

Erin followed his sight to realize that the second bottle had also been shattered, at a range of fifty feet, and glanced at the pistol in her hand. It felt ordinary, not glowing with strange lights or runes or whatever else Crimson used to conjure magic. But… surely he had to have influenced the shot, or her hand, or even the bullet! It couldn’t have been Erin!

 

Like an eager schoolboy, Crimson ran over to the rowboat and fetched a musket, tossing it to Erin and setting up a row of bottles.

 

“Fifty paces further back, Miss Gilbert, I wish to see if you might be the best shot in the entire West Indies!”

 

“You’re insane and manipulating these firearms, I just know it,” Erin shook her head.

 

Her captain gave her a wag of his finger, “Yes to the first but no to the second! I think you are more of an enigma than you give yourself credit for!”

 

“Nonsense! I am ordinary!”

 

“Really?” he smirked. He stood and walked right up to her, and for a moment they were merely inches apart as he began untying the sash at her waist.

 

She thought for a moment that he meant to disrobe her entirely.

 

That wasn’t a circumstance she objected to.

 

Erin closed her eyes and tilted her head up ever so slightly, ready to let him kiss her when she felt the scarf wrap around the top half of her head, covering her sight. He snugly tied a knot and gave her cheek a playful pat.

 

“Can you see through ‘zat?”

 

“No,” she answered in disappointment, hearing him begin to walk away.

 

“Go ahead and fire, you’re facing the correct direction.”

 

“And how do I know you’re not using magic?”

 

“I give you my promise,” Doctor Crimson said, all hint of teasing gone. “I give you my promise, or you may let my boat be dragged to Davy Jones Locker― and I warn you that such oaths are taken seriously by what dwells beneath the surface of the water.”

 

After seeing the underwater version of London, and knowing that magic existed in the world, Erin believed him entirely. She raised the rifle up, unsure of where to point it, and cocked the hammer for a third and final time. Just as she was about to fire, she felt the pull narrow in on a spot, as though she were hammering a nail into a wall, and let the gun fire its ammunition.

 

 _“Was in der Hölle?!”_ Doctor Crimson muttered under his breath. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but judging by the tone, he was beyond surprised.

 

Erin slowly unwrapped the scarf to find that she’d hit the third bottle. With a musket. From one hundred paces away. And blindfolded.

 

“Miss Gilbert?”

 

“Y-Yes, Captain?”

 

“I resolve to never anger you again, for as long as I live, and for as long as your fingers can pull triggers. I fear a wound by impossible marksmanship such as yours would not align with my interests. And from now on, your shifts are in ‘ze crow’s nest.”

 

She let her thumb run across the wooden stock of the musket and blushed, staring at the sand as she said, “Yes, sir.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAHHHHH!! I've been waiting to post this one!! We got them badass female characters up in this fic!!! What the hell is up with Erin's mad skills??
> 
> Leave me some comments!!


	11. Vichor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this is the point in the story where there's going to be some discussion of these characters killing people in defense. It is a pirate AU so we weren't going to get realistically far without a little violence, but I promise 100% there's not going to be gore or anything like that. Besides, Erin "killed" Martin Heiss in the movie, so it's not like she hasn't done it before...

 

They grew close.

 

Tantalizingly close.

 

As a lookout, Erin patrolled the deck of the boat, occasionally slinging her newfound musket over her shoulders and climbing up the rigging to spot ships up in the crow’s nest. Beckman fashioned her a rope to slide down within a week.that she might join in on the action during raids, and it gave her a childish glee to land on the wooden deck and grip her gun like a warrior. She would walk among pirate companions as she slowly made her way up the stairs and at the captain’s side.

 

“There’s three schooners due south, past that inlet,” she might say.

 

He would then pull out his spyglass and peer through it for a few moments before smiling, giving Erin’s shoulder a friendly squeeze before brushing past and taking the helm. Pirates all over the Hallowed Falcon knew to prepare for battle whenever their esteemed leader directly maneuvered the ship.

 

Battles became more effective as the crew learned to function like an army. Erin didn’t mind the participation so much, usually using her rifle to cause damage to the ship’s equipment. She had to kill once or twice, never on purpose, but when an enemy came rushing towards her with his sword raised high, it was only her instincts to defend herself. But those were the only cases, as Doctor Crimson was adamant on taking prisoners and releasing them in remotely safe locations rather than killing. And the aftermath had Erin sitting and meditating on the actions— Pat, Beckman, and the captain himself were quite used to battles and duels and bodies, but it was not a custom she practiced on a regular basis. Then again, she was used to disease and fires sweeping through London, even in a neighborhood as decent as hers. Used to seeing death, just not used to seeing killing.

 

So when it did happen, she wanted to bury both men herself, as a sort of apology. Not a call for forgiveness by any means, but to let the men find respect in their afterlives. Some of the other pirates would help her carry the body across the beach and into a decent spot of dirt in the jungles of an abandoned island— a pitiful place to be installed in God’s earth. Erin would dig. And dig. The shovel would blister her fingers but she’d be damned if she abandoned this task. Even at the point where she could feel water in her toes, she wanted to make sure there was enough of a hole to encompass a body.

 

A body. She had made a body out of a man. Two men.

 

It would happen again, she knew, so she decided to try and get used to it.

 

Back on the ship, she watched the moon weave between clouds in its steeplechase across the sky. She admired the way it drained the night of darkness, rather than illuminating it with light.

 

Sounds of creaking wood were familiar to her ears, but these footsteps made the boards beneath her almost groan. A hand rested on her shoulder as the captain gently sat on the steps beside her. Erin said naught, but let the silence carry out a debate between them.

 

A heartbeat in the darkness, and she begrudgingly knew it was her own.

 

Doctor Crimson took in a small breath of air through his nose, softly and silently like a cat. He gently leaned back and stroked his blonde beard for a few moments, crossing one leg over the other, before pulling his pipe out of his coat and sprinkling a little tobacco into it. Then, he passed it towards Erin.

 

“Calms the nerves, I’ve heard.”

 

She took it and let the flame magically conjured in his hand serve as a match. After one puff, she glanced at him, “Wouldn’t you prefer to conjure some sort of potion to create the same effect? Certainly the smell might work out to your satisfaction.”

 

Crimson took the pipe from her and smiled before leaning back and gently taking a drag of the drug, “I suppose I’ve a soft spot for this stuff. Though truth be told it is rather foul, isn’t it?”

 

“Rum be the remedy?”

 

“Aye,” the captain nodded, standing and dumping the contents of the pipe out into the ocean. He pulled Erin to her feet and they walked towards the cabin, Crimson opening it like the gentlemen he occasionally pretended to be.

 

There was a completely different feel to the cabin at night, and Erin felt more relaxed than she had in days. She accepted a bottle of rum from the German and took a swig straight from it. Such a sweet taste it had, though the alcohol burned her throat a little going down. Crimson gently fell into his armchair and enjoyed his own poison.

 

It took only a bottle for both their eyes to get glassy.

 

  


“You… uh… are you a married lass, Gilbert?”

 

“Why do you ask?”

 

“You’ve a ring on your finger, and I simply didn’t expect a family woman to turn to piracy.”

 

Erin twisted the piece and pulled it off of her hand, holding it up in the lantern’s fading light. She studied the way it gleamed for a few minutes, then tossed it to the captain.

 

“Truth be told, it belonged to a doctor I knew as a child. My parents sent me to him after I… well… I thought I’d seen a ghost. Horrid man. I hated him with all my heart, and when he wasn’t looking, I stole it off his desk. Don’t care for it much, just kept it as an ornament.

 

“As for if I’m married? Heavens no... though… in secret… it is a fondness of mine to settle down with someone, someday. To properly be in love. I’m getting rather old, aren’t I? Soon I won’t be much of a desirable woman in any man’s eyes.”

 

Crimson set his bottle down on the table beside his chair, “That’s not true at all, Ms. Gilbert. You are spectacular, an enigma on the seas and far too fair for half the men in this world!”

 

Her bottom lip quivered, and she could feel her very hands twitching, yearning to cross the room and kiss Crimson then and there. She felt a fire in the lower half of her body, or was it a hunger? It caused her to squirm a little and she quickly drank another gulp’s worth of the rum to distract herself.

 

Erin set the bottle down on the floor. _Fuck it_ , she thought to herself.

 

“I should go back to my quarters, captain,” she murmured.

 

“Yes, we ought to rest up and meet tomorrow with the most of our energy, hmm?”

 

Both of them stood up at once, and for a moment everything was silent. Two pairs of blue eyes met and it felt as though some invisible thread connected their souls. As though a winch was slowly cranking and tightening them together. Crimson swayed a little on the spot, unsure of what the pause meant.

 

She made the bold move.

 

Erin slowly walked towards him, her heart shaking but her determination refusing to wane. Doctor Crimson had a confused look on his face, which she didn’t expect, but Erin didn’t falter.

 

She wrapped both arms around his neck, with one threading through his shaggy blonde hair, and tugged him close with a possessive strength. She could almost feel his eyes closing with hers, as though he wanted this just as much, and their lips met in frenzy.

 

The first thing she thought of was how unromantic this really was. The second thing she thought of was how sexy it was.

 

Erin let out a soft moan as Crimson’s arm firmly rested on her back to support her, his mouth hungrily claiming hers. Teeth nipped at her lip, and for a moment she couldn’t even feel his beard against her mouth. The arms wrapped around her felt smaller but tugging at her with just as much strength. The lips against her mouth were smooth for a moment, the nose bumping against hers round and small, even though she knew that the captain’s was crooked and rough. A hand gently caressed her cheek, and it felt softer than silk against her skin.

 

Tongues explored each other’s mouths for a few seconds, and Erin tasted rum, instantly wanting so much more of it. She heard a feminine whimper, and assumed that _she_ had made the noise. After all, her brain felt as though it was turning into soup, her legs even more so.

 

 

Then, it all ended.

 

Crimson gently pushed her away and quickly turned around. Erin opened her eyes to find him running his hands through his hair and sighing. If Erin had looked closely enough, she could see the static in the air as he used a small amount of magic on himself. And if she were sober enough, she might observe him making himself taller in that moment, with a fuller frame.

 

But she was drunk enough that it mattered not, merely staring at the ground in disappointment as to where she had messed up.

 

When he turned back to face her, he still looked ever the man she had feelings for, his beard messed up from their kiss, and his eyes dark with a lust that Erin wanted more than anything to claim.

 

“I’m… I’m so sorry, Erin. But we can’t do this.”

 

She felt her head shaking in confusion, “Why not? Are you married? Or… is it me?”

 

He swooped in and gripped her shoulders, his expression one of kindness, “Of course not, I want _nothing_ more than to… I simply cannot give you what you desire in… in a man worthy of courting. It would be best if we remained friends.”

 

Erin took a deep breath and covered one of the hands on her shoulder with her own. A rough, calloused hand, and not at all like the one that’d touched her cheek. Not that she actually remembered, focusing on the contact here and now.

 

She closed her eyes for a second and then nodded, “Alright. I’d never force you to do something you weren’t comfortable with.”

 

“Nor I; that’s why we shouldn’t do this,” he reluctantly sighed.

 

“My apologies Crimson.”

 

He looked as though he wanted to say something, to shout a million truths of his great mysteries aloud, but instead straightened up and gave her a smile.

 

“Please, my mother gave her son the name... Kenneth. Kenneth Higgins. You can use it all you want. You deserve to know that much.”

 

“It’s a beautiful name.”

 

The corner of his mouth twitched, but he took a deep breath and puffed out his chest, “May I escort you back to your quarters, my friend?”

 

“I haven’t had many male friends in my life,” Erin said.

 

Kenneth smiled, “Truth be told, I was raised without knowing othe— without knowing any girls. Can’t say that I don’t mind the company, cunning and crafty as you may be.”

 

Inebriated as she was, the playful tone still stung her freshly broken heart. But she was a big enough girl that she might brush it aside, passing through the door he held open for her. The walk back was silent, but heavy with a conversation.

 

 

She had a bandana over her hair to keep it pulled back, as she’d lost the band she usually used somewhere in the crevices of her bunk. Both she and Pat were in charge of cleaning the weapons as the Hallowed Falcon pulled into some nameless cove with docks and drinks. That was about all the men needed, it seemed.

 

“So I am going to make the assumption that your meeting with the captain last night didn’t work out in a romantic sense?” Pat asked.

 

Erin shook her head, checking the sharpness of a bayonet and fetching the stone to clean it up. She said nothing, but Pat could sense her glumness.

 

“There are plenty of men in the West Indies, men with bigger chances of surviving than he.”

 

“I would imagine that a man of two-hundred years might remain fairly confident in his abilities to avoid death.”

 

Pat moved across the room and rested a hand around Erin’s shoulders, pulling her in for a makeshift hug. The younger woman leaned into it and sighed, dejected at her failed attempt to court the captain. Erin gently ran her finger over the intricate carvings in the stock of the musket, obviously made by an honest craftsman trying to get his work appreciated. She took a deep breath and accepted Pat’s canteen of water.

 

There was a knock on the doorframe, and both women glanced up to see Abigail leaning against the wall. She had a kind, sympathetic look in her eyes, and it made Erin silently dread just how many people aboard the ship already knew of her snafu with the captain.

 

“Crimson’s invited us to dinner in his cabin, along with Beckman. Might as well since all the others are out at the pubs.”  

 

Pat stood and let out a groan as she stretched, “I hope he didn’t have Benny cook whatever it is he’ll be serving.”

 

“Erin, you coming?”

 

“Hmm?” her head snapped up and she shrugged. “Yes, I’ll be along shortly. My mind is just preoccupied, that’s all.”

 

Both of the other women gave her smiles of encouragement, leaving her be as they made their way to the deck. Erin sat with the musket in her hand for a while longer, mustering the courage to face the captain after her mishap. Perhaps he would pretend that they were both too drunk to remember the events of the previous night. Perhaps he would tell her friends how miserable of a kisser she was. No. No, he was mean to strangers and enemies, but he was a kind man to those he knew personally. ‘Twas a modesty he’d keep about the event, that much she knew.

 

She stood and gently rested the musket on the gun rack, shrugging off her coat and tossing it into the women’s quarters before climbing up the ladder that led to the deck of the Hallowed Falcon.

 

A natural fog laid on top of the water like a snug, cold blanket, and she couldn’t even see the night sky when she glanced up. The lone lantern up at the helm merely reflected the flog rather than illuminating any of the dangers on the deck, thus Erin took great care to watch where she stepped. She tripped anyways.

 

Kenneth was waiting for her when she arrived, holding the door open and giving her the warmest of smiles. Their eyes met in a shy manner, but she saw a kindness in his and felt her heart ease on its worries.

 

“Come in, come in! There is warm food and strong drink to be enjoyed by the lot of us!”

 

Beckman, Pat, and Abigail were all seated around a dining table, and Erin realized with a light smirk that the captain had used magic to clean up his cabin somewhat. Where books spilled out of the shelves and maps were strewn everywhere only yesterday, delicate arrangements of candles gently… floated in the air. Like stars. Vases of flowers dotted the room, and Erin realized that she’d never seen flora so vibrant in her life. She wondered if he had altered them, too, with magic, but decided it seemed more fitting to his personality for him to have gone out and picked them himself.

 

Erin sat between Pat and Kenneth, and he reached forwards to remove the lid off a platter and reveal an amazing smelling sausage dish, to which he served everyone’s plates. Though it took him a few minutes to figure out, Beckman managed to uncork a bottle of fine Spanish wine and Erin rejoiced a little.

 

She’d been getting tired of rum.

 

“Bread, Miss Gilbert?”

 

“Yes, thank you,” she nodded, accepting a piece from him and ignoring the touch of his fingers.

 

This longing was truly pathetic.

 

For a little while, Doctor Crimson/Kenneth Higgins made small talk with the table of friends, and then the conversation began to turn to his magic. Though reserved and perhaps mature enough not to blatantly brag, they could tell that he did like talking about himself to an extent. He told them stories of Germany and storms in the Atlantic, of expeditions to Boston and New York (“I ‘vas there back when it was called New Amsterdam!”).

 

He told them tales of the most amazing spells he had conjured, of potions that cured scars or runes that permanently heated your bed in the winter. He spoke of making little assistants out of clay and how one had destroyed his laboratory in Germany on a rampage.

 

“So why the deck of cards?” Pat asked, taking a sip of wine.

 

Kenneth cut off a piece of sausage, sighing a little, “Magic isn’t an infinite source. Well, for the smaller spells it is, provided that you sacrifice something important to even begin practicing the art. But the greater spells, what may be the true difference between life and death, require what many witches and wizards call Vichor. Each one takes a different form when it is given to a person of magical influence; a limited amount to test his wisdom and resourcefulness. Someday every witch and wizard depletes their source, their Vichor, and thus they much cherish it with all their heart. Mine came to me as a deck of cards.”

 

He tapped his breast pocket.

 

“Mine’s the feathers in my favorite pillow!” Beckman smiled innocently.

 

“My dearest quartermaster, you aren’t magically inclined.”

 

The younger man shook his head in protest, “I was the one that hexed Captain Ramirez de Madrid last year, remember? He turned into a stingray and swam away before we could get him!”

 

To this, the captain could only laugh in defeat, and the women knew that there was no detering Kevin Beckman’s insistence on such matters. They all finished out the meal, met with a lovely dessert of some sort of drink made from the cocoa bean. Erin silently thought that it could do with a little milk and sugar, but she said naught.

 

The rest left to do their rounds of the ship, and she stayed behind to help Crimson clean up, only to find that he had a small spell to do that for him.

 

Dishes gently floated and spun until they turned back into rocks, making Erin wince a little as they sailed past her and out the window. She could hear the musical _plunk!_ as they fell into the ocean. Another spell dried the meat into a jerky with a point of his finger, and he gently wrapped it in a paper and stored it in a jar for later. Even a man of magic knew not to waste, it seemed.

 

Then, the dining table spun until it turned into the rug that normally covered the floor of his cabin. The candles extinguished themselves, save for one that floated into the lantern that normally hung from the ceiling.

 

Crimson kept the flowers as they were.

 

“What really happened between Beckman and the spanish captain?”

 

The pirate laughed, “There is this plant that relaxes and distorts the mind, it grows fondly in Jamaica, but I believe the Spanish brought it from either Asia or Africa. One night, Beckman ran across an officer in Havana and they decided to smoke the plant together. I found him the next morning petting stingrays on the beach.”

 

“They aren’t aggressive?”

 

“Only if you step on them, but he was just sitting there, soaking his trousers when I found him.”

 

Crimson snapped his fingers and the bookshelves slowly began to reassemble themselves, filling with books that Erin had begun to teach him how to read. She watched the magic in awe (and envy).

 

“All this costs naught of your Vigor?”

 

“Vichor,” he corrected. “No, and with years of practice, I know how to conserve my strength. I—  _Ich lasse meine wache runter_.”

 

He stopped, closing his eyes and uncomfortably tugging at his collar as he lost his voice. Erin frowned and set her hand on his shoulder in sympathy, wondering how much it hurt for him to have to go through this every day. Sometimes he couldn’t even make it to afternoon before this sacrifice caught up to him, retreating into his cabin and having Beckman shout the orders.

 

The captain gently stepped around her and towards a cabinet, opening it and fetching a potion that he poured into the rest of his glass of wine. He gave her a soft smile as he began to drink it to dull the pain.

 

Erin wanted to make things a little less awkward between them, and saw this as her chance, while he could not interrupt her.

 

“I’m sorry for how I behaved last night, Kenneth. But I wanted to let you know that I still think highly of you, that hasn’t changed. You have my loyalty if it comes to fighting the Spanish armada or facing the Locker.”

 

For a moment, it looked as though Crimson’s light blue eyes were about to water, but he took a deep breath and steeled himself.

 

“Even if… we ought not have a courtship between us,” she said with a sad smile, “I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me. You’ve changed my life forever.”

 

He was silent as a cat while the clock behind him ticked away. And then he set the glass of potion down on a counter and moved to hug her… something that she accepted with a warmth she’d missed of herself. She rested her chin on his shoulder as he held her with a squeeze of equal gratitude, and she nearly laughed at the words he managed to convey in the embrace.

 

They broke apart, and both blushed, though neither would admit it aloud.

 

“I… um… I’m going to go to my cabin,” Erin said with a flustered smile.

 

Crimson held the door for her once more, but she found that she didn’t think him pretending to be a gentleman this time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It started out with a kiss, how did it end up like this?? The chapters are getting more and more dramatic! What's going on inside Crimson's head? 
> 
> BTW to avoid confusion, in the future the name Kenneth is only going to be referenced in dialogue, and Crimson shall be his name everywhere else. But they are the same person! My g— my boy likes his aliases! 
> 
> This is definitely my favorite drawing by rootproxy, so shout out to her for being awesome!! Reach me at ziraseal.tumblr.com if you want to nerd out with me about stuff!
> 
> Leave comments and tell me what you think so far!!


	12. plentyn yn dwp

 

“You’re not properly calculating the wind factor in your navigations,” Abby interjected.

 

“Forgive me, I only read Mr. Newton’s _‘Principia Mathematica’_ recently. I’m familiar with his concepts on a basic scale,” Erin huffed. “His work is going to change how we understand physics, and barely any understand such concepts to begin with!”

 

“His work has been out for fourteen years!”

 

“Aye, I was only a young lass out of school when that happened! Would you like me to write him up? I’m sure he’s rather cozy at the University of Cambridge, and I’ll ask him how us **_pirates_ ** might perfectly calculate equations to navigate the West Indies and blow up his majesty’s Navy!”

 

“ _You_ were the one who blew up a ship, Erin! Come to think of it, you ought to invest more studies in calculus, given your uncanny talent for ballistics.”

 

Doctor Crimson set down cups of tea at their table while they continued to bicker, alongside a small container of sugar and some cookies (rather than those horrid biscuits that sailors usually ate). He gave them a small smirk and a wink as they continued their mathematics, sitting down at the end of the table and kicking his feet up. Her heart twinged, a tiny bit, and she silently berated herself.

 

“You’re going to get saltwater on the map, Captain,” Abby muttered.

 

He shifted his feet, but only just. Teasing them ever so slightly. Erin dunk the end of her quill into the inkwell and splashed a tad on the toes of his boots, to which he slightly moved his feet away.

 

“I better not leave ink’d footsteps on the deck of my ship,” he joked, mirth glittering in his eyes.

 

Just as Erin was about to take a sip of tea, the cup floated out of her hands. She watched as a spoon dipped into the sugar jar (of abundance in the West Indies, and stolen off a ship headed back to Europe). Both the cup and the spoon gently rose and headed towards Crimson’s hands, the silverware dumping the sugar into her tea. He stirred the drink around for a few moments before handing the cup back to her.

 

Her heart panged at the way his eyes softened when looking at her. Oh, there was no point… she would remain in love with him, that much she knew.

 

Abby shifted a little in her seat, peering ever so closely at the map. After a few moments, with Erin and Crimson sweetly playing with each other as child friends might, she stood up and rushed to the other side of the room. Both pirates glanced up at her with confusion. And amusement.

 

“Yates, ‘vat are you doing?”

 

The former merchant tried to stand on her tippy toes to reach a book high up on the shelf, even going so far as to standing on one of the bottom shelves. Just as her fingertips managed to touch the spine, the book floated off the shelving and into Crimson’s outstretched hand.

 

He looked at the writing, his lips attempting to form the words on the front. Erin leaned over and gently prompted, “Saint-Pierre. Fort-de-France.”

 

“But those sounds do not match up with the letters,” the captain said, brow furrowing.

 

Abigail took a sip of tea, sitting down at the table and swatting Erin’s wrist away from the map. She let out a sigh... of amusement? Certainly a small amount of annoyance contained within the noise, directed at Crimson.

 

“You can take the pronunciations up with the French, we’ll be visiting them shortly. And you might want to consider buying us a new boat while you’re at it.”

 

Doctor Crimson leaned back in his chair with a most confused expression on his face, glancing at Erin for explanation as to whatever in the world her best friend could be referring to. She shrugged, excited to see what had Abby so riled up as to desire a confrontation with the French on the other side of the West Indies.

 

“I saw a footnote at the bottom of this map— and I don’t want to know where you got it— written in French. It talks about another map that cannot properly be read yet still shows the location of a treasure map. A Lucayan treasure map.”

 

Both Erin and the captain sat up straight in their seats, nearly knocking over the cups of tea as they leaned over the table with undivided attention. Crimson’s knee knocked against hers for a moment and she had to bite her lip to listen to Abby.

 

Now was _not_ the time, though the heat against her skin wasn’t any help.

 

“That ‘vas what I initially searched for upon boarding the Aphrodite,” Crimson nodded. “So it’s… with the French?”

 

“Presumably with the officers at Fort Saint Lewis.”

 

Erin heard a growl as Crimson peered closer towards the map, his eyes narrowing in anger. A lone finger traced the

 

“What is it?” she asked.

 

“It is in ‘ze hands of an old friend, a German officer enlisted in the French Navy. Admiral Martin Heiss.”

 

Abby put a hand on her hip, “Are you well acquainted?”

 

Crimson leaned back and stretched, a hint of anger still tucked away in his eyes. He slung an arm over the back of Erin’s chair and propped his feet on the table once more.

 

“I am the reason he uses a cane. We’ve been rivals in these seas for the past thirty years, and after knowing each other for so long, I would hate to pass up the opportunity of inspecting his fortress. I wonder if he still has that pathetic hat of his.”

 

“So we’re just going to bombard our way into a French fort? Can’t we have one day where we go and pick flowers or ride horses into sunsets?” Asked Erin, ruefully.

 

The captain clapped her on the shoulder and laughed, “Go on, now, and let them now to set course for Martinique. I’ve been searching for this map for years, and it was in a footnote of my map this whole time! If only I’d learned how to read earlier!”

 

 

Erin, Abigail, and Pat pulled the rowboat as high up on the beach as they could, nestling it into the sand that it might stay put. Each of them grabbed the necessities for bathing and walked towards the forest.

 

“There should be quite a bit of fresh water on this island for us to each have a bit of privacy,” Pat groaned as she stretched. “And take your weapons with you in case one of the men comes into the forest for a peak!”

 

Abigail headed towards the middle of the island, Pat walked along the beach headed for the south side, and Erin took a right to begin trekking towards the north. She took off her boots and let her toes wiggle in the sand as she walked, smiling and feeling carefree. The gentle lapping of waves made for a song that nearly put her to sleep.

 

The pistol at her side bumped against her hip, and on the other side her rusty sword swung back and forth. She was trying to figure out why the sun, which usually blinded her as it traveled directly overhead this time of day, wasn’t a bother now. She began laughing as she realized that Kenneth’s had was perched atop her head, pushing up the brim a little and wandering between a pair of drooping palms. The humidity hit her, but the knowledge that she’d be quickly dipping in a lagoon of cold, fresh, and crystal-clear water gave her the energy to keep moving. She stepped on a few sticks and passed a snake who slithered away from her in fear, she skittered an equal distance.

 

Finally, she came upon a fresh pool of water, with a stream trickling down from the hill at the center of the island. Erin hoped that the others encountered a paradise just as wondrous as this.

 

Disrobing herself was a slow and relaxing process, draping her vest and shirt on several tree limbs (and hoping that no animal decided to steal away with her garments). The heat actually felt relaxing on her skin when she stood naked in the water, swirling her foot around for a few moments before wandering further in.

 

The water was clear enough that she didn’t have fear of any alligators or eels slinking towards her to… well… do what such beasts do. She did see a few fish dart between the mangrove trees, but didn’t let them intimidate her.

 

Singing echoed from the beach, and Erin remembered that some of the men were going to stay at the shore just to make sure that nothing horrid happened to the women. Beckman assured them that he’d keep the men by the sea unless he heard screaming, and she had no doubt that the quartermaster had brought rum as well.

 

“Oh, it feels like forever since I’ve bathed,” she muttered to herself, dipping her hair into the freshwater. “I’ll have to demand that the next captain keep a tub aboard.”

 

She felt something prick on her back and sighed, turning and checking her shoulders via the reflection. Sure enough, the brand was there again, more painful than ever, and she wouldn’t be able to talk to anyone about it. Even backwards in the reflection, she could still read it perfectly.

 

Everytime she wanted to tell someone about it, it would disappear and force her to wonder if she’d imagined the mark.

 

 

 

 

Erin decided to not let the pain get her down. She continued washing up with what soap she’d stolen off the last raid and got her hair soaked. Deep breaths. Her toes wiggled in the silky sand at the bottom of the lagoon.

 

She heard a gasp of shock and thought it sounded like that of a woman.

 

_Crack!_

 

The sound of a branch snapping prompted her to whip around faster than a water spout and snatched her pistol out of the holster she had hanging nearby. As always, the barrel pointed before she even knew what the danger was, the unseen force guiding her hand.

 

“Don’t shoot!” a muffled voice exclaimed.

 

Erin’s jaw dropped and an eyebrow raised, “Kenneth! What are you doing out here?!”

 

Sensing that there was no point in hiding from her, the captain moved from his spot behind quite a bit of foliage with his hands covering his eyes. Floating behind him was a folded pile of clean garments.

 

“My apologies, Erin, the others had not undressed when I went to deliver them clothes and I assumed that the same would be true of you! I didn’t see much, I swear!”

 

Not that she would really mind if he would care to look further, she lowered her pistol all the same and wandered over to where she kept her towel, wrapping it around her person and declaring herself somewhat modest.

 

“A thousand pardons,” Crimson muttered, his face bright red. “I’ll… um… I’ll wait at the shore.”

 

She smiled a little at his boyishness and waited for his footsteps to fall silent far away before drying herself off and redressing. Her towel spread underneath her hair, Erin packed her dirty clothes into a rucksack and decided to stress the captain a few more minutes of embarrassment before going down to the beach and confronting him.

 

Her boots took a while to put on, and she wrapped the holster back around her waist with a huff, shaking her head and promising to climb the rigging a bit more this week to keep in shape. Using her sword to peacefully part a path for herself, Erin went exploring.

 

 

It took her all of ten minutes to find herself in trouble. But such was the way of Erin Gilbert.

 

And it really wasn’t her fault, she had just found a cave and wanted to see what was inside. The worst she could encounter was fruit bats, and they weren’t so horrible. Sometimes they were even a little cute. But she encountered no droppings on the ground, nor bones, nor eggs, so she assumed that no animal made its home in this particular crevice. Perhaps there was something else to be found, then?

 

Erin braced her hand against the wall and her foot against the floor to try to squeeze past a boulder, but she lost her grip.

 

Tucking her shoulder inwards as it slammed against the wall and pulling into a ball so that her head wouldn’t get hurt, Erin felt herself slipping downwards, attempting to find something to grab onto and coming up with nothing. She did manage to slow her descent by kicking out her feet, but it caused the rock to scrape against her back. Erin let out a scream as all of this occurred, and while it felt like she was falling for minutes, the whole thing happened in two or three seconds.

 

Down at the bottom of the crevice, her hands and back were bloody, and all of her was covered in dirt that she’d spent the last hour cleaning off in the lagoon. Erin let out a bit of a whimper and managed to stand upright in the small hole she’d fallen down.

 

She had a coffin’s worth of space around her, and a whopping league to the surface, it seemed.

 

Not sure what else to do, Erin grabbed some of the old clothes in her backpack and pressed the cloth to the cuts on her hands. Twenty minutes of her panicking and attempting to climb back up passed, but to no avail.

 

Eventually, she heard someone calling her name. Disappointingly faint, yet help all the same.

 

“Erin!”

 

“Are you out here, Erin!”

 

“ABBY! PAT! I’M IN HERE!” she cried, desperately attempting to push herself up so that they might hear her better.

 

Not that her actions mattered, because the sound bounced and echoed off the cave walls, traveling upwards and towards her friends out in the forest. Erin heard footsteps as they ran towards the cave and shouted a warning to be careful.

 

Abigail nearly fell into the crevice, were it not for Pat’s strong arms catching her. Both of them crouched and got a good look at Erin stuck so far below.

 

“Are you okay?” Pat shouted.

 

“Some cuts but nothing major,” Erin sighed. “Is Crimson with you?”

 

“Yeah, he’s coming right now. Just stay put, okay?”

 

:Like some sort of angel (her fantasy of romance was truthfully hopeless at this point), the captain appeared many feet above her, glancing down and smirking.

 

“You know how to get into trouble, Gilbert. Fancied a bit ‘o spelunkin’, did you?”

 

Erin called up to him, “I’d appreciate if the merriment could cease until after the rescue, Kenneth! Could you use a bit of magic to help me?”

 

“Better not,” he shook his head and stood. “I can’t risk hurting or dropping you if I break my concentration. I can try and find some rope to— _s_ _heisse!_ ”

 

The ground beneath his feet crumbled, and he turned just as it gave way, attempting to hold onto the edge for a moment before his grip slipped as well. Just as Abigail and Pat could grab onto his coat, he fell out of reach and down the same crevice that Erin was in. Erin had been attempting to avoid the falling rock and dirt when he came crashing down, using a hint of magic to cushion his fall.

 

“Oh, oh goodness, are you okay?!” she asked, him still on top of her.

 

Crimson managed to straighten out and took her face in his hands, “Never mind me, Erin, did I hurt you?!”

 

Her breath caught in her throat for a moment before shaking her head, his hands placing themselves on her shoulders when he realized how intimate he was being. In the small crevice, they were pressed up against each other, both breathing heavily from the adrenaline. She wasn’t sure what to do with her hands, so she let them rest on the lapels of his jacket, pulling herself closer and burying her face in his shoulder to keep the anxiety at bay. On their own, her lungs took jarring, uneven breaths. She never did like being underground, and an unpleasant memory began to return to her. He seemed to understand what she was doing and cradled her closer, whispering something calming in his native German tongue.

 

“It’s okay, Erin. It’s okay,” he said. Then, he glanced up at Abby and Patty, still looking down from fifty feet above. “Can you go get help?! Bring ropes and the like, or pickaxes if naught else!”

 

Though the situation was dire, Erin saw Pat smirk a little at Crimson’s crass. Both of her friends disappeared to grab help, leaving behind only echoes.

 

“Sorry,” Crimson muttered, shifting a little in what little space they had, “I suppose I’ve just buggered things further, haven’t I?”

 

“Only a little,” Erin smiled into his shoulder.

 

For a while they kept silent, sharing this tunnel of space and neither acknowledging the slight elephant in the room. But they kept in their makeshift embrace.

 

“I apologize again for… interrupting you earlier.”

 

“It’s alright, Kenneth. ‘Tis only a body.”

 

He took a deep breath, glancing into her eyes with a question on the tip of his tongue. She gave him permission with a raise of her eyebrow.

 

“I saw the… brand on your back. ‘Tis made of magic?”

 

The pain returned a little, and Erin’s jaw dropped, her eyes unfocusing. He could see the mark? The mark that no one else, not even Abigail, had ever seen on her skin? Erin looked into his eyes with fear and uncertainty, and Crimson gently turned her around. She lifted her hair and he lowered enough of her shirt to see the brand.

 

“I… I can’t read what it says,” he muttered in embarrassment.

 

Erin shrugged, “It’s Welsh. The mark says _‘_ _plentyn yn dwp’_. It… uh… it means ‘stupid child’.”

 

“You speak ‘Velsh?”

 

“Only that phrase. As soon as I translated it as a teenager, I went to the nearest person I new who could read it and they told me. But… I didn’t think anyone else could see it,” she said.

 

Crimson traced the letters, causing Erin to shiver a little.

 

“You were cursed with these words, that no one would ever believe you had this mark on you. That you would be the only one to witness it. But, like all magic, those who are magically inclined can detect it.”

 

She nodded, “That makes sense.”

 

“W-who cursed you, Erin? It looks as though you’ve had this since you were… a child? Why would someone...”

 

Erin felt the nausea of the unpleasant memory return and squirmed a little. He sensed her discomfort and dropped the subject instantly, beginning to recount his mother’s research into geology magic and what stones went with what spells.

 

She felt a little lost, her face so close to his and yet so far. She listened to him talk with what could only be described as love, leaning up against him (and blaming it on what little room there was in the crevice) and smiling as he described Mayan and Lucayan magic. Dammit! Why was this so difficult, why couldn’t he simply accept that she’d enjoy him no matter what kind of man he was?? Exhausted and still in pain from her fall, she rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

 

They were rescued an hour later, Beckman and Pat lowering ropes and gently pulling them both to the safety of the cave mouth. Though she was really quite fine, Crimson carried her to the ship, her eyes closing and a smile on her face.   

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Praise the butt!! Crimson caught Erin in her birthday suit (even though she made a bit of a show, she doesn't really mind). Fun fact, when the captain caught her... that pirate didn't necessarily look like a Kenneth if you know what I mean. 
> 
> Leave comments!


	13. The Würzburg Witch Trials

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Backstory backstory backstory. And a certain oblivious redhead.

 

 

She dreamed that they were on the boat alone, letting it rock back and forth and sail itself in a midnight wind. But it did not feel similar to the dream of London that Crimson had been manipulating within her head.

 

So why did it seem so real?

 

Lips pressed against her reddish brown hair, lips that felt like they were always supposed to be there.

 

There was no chill (nor heat), yet she leaned against him with a smile to keep warm. Kenneth kept a hand on a rope as the Hallowed Falcon weaved between islands and followed both current and wind.

 

Empty, save for the two of them.

 

Neither spoke, merely standing there, leaning against one another with smiles on their faces. His thumb drew a perfect circle in the small of her back, and she glanced up into his kind blue eyes. _Those eyes_. She’d never realized how easy it would be to simply lose herself in them. Her lips found his jaw and gently pressed against his beard; she let it tickle her nose, grinning that she finally had the captain all to herself.

 

At least in a realm of dreams they might dance like young lovers and twirl like falling stars.

 

 _“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this. How long I’ve wanted you,”_ he murmured, letting their lips meet ever so softly.

 

 _“Oh, really?”_ she asked. _“How long?”_

 

_“From the moment you tried to steal the Falcon. I couldn’t help but admire your courage. Your cunningness. You were not afraid of anything in that moment.”_

 

 _“I was afraid of you,”_ Erin admitted quietly.

 

He smirked against her lips, “ _You don’t have to be afraid any more.”_

 

Crimson’s fingers threaded through her hair and he leaned down to kiss her throat, causing Erin to gasp. His teeth weren’t sharp or harsh, but the small amount of pain as he nipped her collarbone prompted a racing in her heart.

 

Her hands found his hips and she tugged him closer to her body, the heat of his mouth distracting her from forming coherent thoughts.

 

It felt like she’d been waiting _years_ for this. Like it was something she had always wanted. Erin couldn’t help the whimper that followed his actions, and she pressed her forehead against his to savour the moment.

 

A hand, and she wasn’t sure whose, reached up and undid the buttons on her vest. She let the garment slide off her shoulders, followed by her shirt, and kissed Crimson on the mouth once more as her hands pulled his coat away. She could feel tense muscles under her fingertips and stroked them as their lips met again and again.

 

_“Kenneth…”_

 

He leaned down and kissed her chest, muttering something in German with a low voice and causing her knees to go weak. Her heart was beating so fast and so hard that she was sure she’d burst, that he’d feel it in her chest.

 

In that moment, she felt like a hurricane. Her feelings were racing around harshly, destroying all thought. Forget it, she didn’t need thought. Not when she had Crimson right where she wanted him, where she needed him.

 

And then she experienced a nothingness. A dreadful nothingness.

 

Erin’s eyes flew open, still within the dream, and she found herself all alone on the Hallowed Falcon. She called again and again for Crimson, but the captain did not show his face. Dejected, Erin meandered towards the stern and observed the vessel piloting itself, the wheel rotating left and right as the ship glided through a fog not unlike the one Crimson had used to knock her out in Nassau.

 

She crossed her arms over her chest (her shirt and vest having reappeared) and pouted. That wasn’t fair! If she didn’t get to have the man in real life, she ought enjoy the dream version!

 

There was a bit of a rustle in the ropes and gaffs. Her head snapped up to witness a figure climbing around the rigging and peering out from the crow’s nest. Thinking that it might be Doctor Crimson, Erin quickly took hold of the shrouds and began pulling herself to meet him. Her hands burned a little from climbing too quickly, but she told herself that it was worth it.

 

At the lookout, she pulled herself onto the wooden boards and found a woman.

 

_“Who are you? What are you doing here?”_

 

The woman had blonde hair as wild as a hurricane, with impish features and blue eyes more enticing than sapphires. What… oh, Erin remembered her! She was the lass who taught her and Abigail to fight back in Nassau.

 

What was her name, again? Holström? No. Holland? That couldn’t be right. She was Scandinavian, to be sure. Or was she? No, it was another accent, thick and perfectly matched to the woman’s personality.

 

Erin watched her inhale from her pipe and smile, winking before she introduced herself once more, _“The name’s Holtzmann. I believe I acquainted myself with a woman as wondrous as you.”_

 

 _“Ah. Yes. You… erm… you taught me swordplay back in Nassau,”_ Erin nodded.

 

_“And have you improved at all?”_

 

At this, Erin let out a small laugh, _“No. Not in the slightest. But I never got the chance to thank you for your lesson.”_

 

Holtzmann reached out and played with a bit of Erin’s hair, to which the older woman swatted her hand away. The mysterious woman took another puff of her pipe and smiled, exhaling the smoke into the foggy night.

 

_“Think nothing of it. I had to make sure you were some’vat prepared before signing you on.”_

 

_“Come again? I work for Doctor Crimson.”_

 

Holtzmann nodded, _“Ah, of course. My bad. Is… is he a good captain?”_

 

_“The best. I would go to the end of the world for him. I hope he doesn’t grow tired of me or my friends.”_

 

_“From ‘vat I remember of you, you were an adventure in your own way. If a man could grow tired of that, he is a poor excuse for a pirate.”_

 

Erin shrugged, but said nothing. People had grown tired of her before, and she knew it would only be a matter of time before he moved away from her and onto the next woman (likely a far prettier one at that). It wasn’t a world-crushing thought, just her own painful truth.

 

The mysterious Holtzmann continued smoking at her pipe.

 

_“Is it true what they say about him? That he ‘vields magic?”_

 

She nodded, _“The likes of which I’ve never imagined in all my years. It’s magnificent. He’s magnificent.”_

 

 _“Magic. That’d be a sight to see,”_ Holtzmann muttered. _“But he sounds a little pretentious in my opinion. Sounds like a man who has secrets.”_

 

_“And is it not a human’s right to have a few of those? Or can pirates steal away with secrets as well?”_

 

 _“Women always find out the truth,”_ the other woman said.

 

The former merchant blinked, _“What is that supposed to mean?”_

 

Glancing over at the spot next to her, Erin grew frustrated; for just as with Crimson, unfathomable Holtzmann had disappeared. She let out a huff and crossed one leg over the other as she observed the fog swirling around the boat.

 

_“Crimson! Are you done manipulating my dream?!”_

 

She was only met with silence, and asked again.

 

Surely if he was wielding his mysticism to alter what her dreams revealed, he would at least have the decency to quit this tomfoolery. Erin glanced out at the islands the Hallowed Falcon weaved itself through, almost close enough to run aground on hidden sandbars. The ship snuck into a cove and from far below she heard a rattle and a splash as the anchor dropped and dug into the sea floor.

 

She didn’t understand what there was to see now, and used the rope Beckman had crafted for her to swing down to the ground. Her boots landed simultaneously and she felt a small shock vibrate through her legs.

 

For a dream, it all seemed very real.

 

Another ship rammed into the Hallowed Falcon without so much as a warning shot, and Erin went flying into the mast. Her hip felt as though it were struck by a mace or a warhammer. The floorboards of the starboard of the ship had practically been reduced to debris.

 

She quickly looked up.

 

A man ‘o war, of terrifying size and even more frightening appearance. Barbs and hooks stuck out of its hull like teeth, armed with more canons than should even be possible with a normal sized crew, and the paint that made her heart race with anxiety. Black and gold and green. A sickly green that no combination of pigments should have been able to see. It was almost the same color as a gho—

 

The name on the side read Mercado.

 

Water swirled as the Falcon began to sink, and Erin wasn’t sure what to do but run towards the cabin. Grappling hooks flew over the edge of the man ‘o war and latched onto what had not broken off into the sea from the Falcon’s once proud hull. She heard pirates beginning to land and thought to stay and defend the ship belonging to the man she loved— but there was no weapon in her hand to combat this army. What was she to do? What _could_ she do, when she was struggling not to choke on her own air?

 

Just as she heard a monster roaring from depths of the ocean, Erin thrust open the doors to the cabin, and tumbled into a void of midnight black.

 

 

“No!” she screamed.

 

Thankfully, her shout was muffled by her pillow, and she woke neither Abigail nor Pat.

 

Her friends continued their peaceful, well needed slumber, as she sat upright in her bunk. Her heart raced like a hound during a foxhunt, and she let her hand rest over it for a few seconds— attempting to catch her breath— before sliding out of bed. She threw her coat and her boots on, and shut the door behind her.

 

Few pirates walked the deck at night, their focus not on her but on the horizon for any possible sign of conflict or dangers from the environment. She tightened the coat over her shoulders and glanced at the cabin.

 

The cabin she’d just tried to escape through in her dreams.

 

A light was on, giving off a small silhouette. The pirates were only posted at the bow and the stern, so no one watched as she approached Crimson’s cabin. Her eyes were not adjusted to the darkness, but she could have sworn that the shadow hitting the stain glass had the form of a woman.

 

The silhouette slowly took off her shirt, her body language depicting that she was preparing to rest after a long day. But Erin was already fuming.  

 

Was he… was he really sleeping with someone on their journey to Martinique?!

 

That bastard!

 

Erin was angry as a badger as she rapped her knuckles on the door, with a hurried motion. She might as well ruin their evening if Crimson was going to lie to her like this. _“I simply cannot give to you what you desire in a man worthy courting”_ — dishonest words spoken to Erin that _he_ might sleep with harbor wenches, no doubt. At the interrupting noise, the woman’s shadow jumped in fear and the lantern within the cabin was instantaneously snuffed.

 

Within seconds, Crimson burst through the door.

 

He didn’t even try to hide his messy hair, no doubt from a fun night’s worth of sinning. And when he spoke, his voice was soft and scared. Caught in the act.

 

“Erin? What are you doing out here at night? Has something happened?”

 

She didn’t even hesitate, “Whose company were you enjoying in there, Kenneth?”

 

“I don’t… there was no one else in my cabin,” he seemed awfully confused, and she suspected him of putting on a bit of a show to convince her otherwise, “You’re obviously tired, and seeing things that are not there.”

 

“Is that so?” she asked, pushing the door open and walking in.

 

The captain followed with a sigh, lighting the lantern that hung from the ceiling with a snap of his fingers. Erin glanced around but found no one, heard no hushed breathing from a hiding beauty. She felt frustrated tears pricking at the corner of her eyes and faced him with an embarrassed scowl.

 

“I… I saw a woman’s shadow in your window! Don’t lie to me, Kenneth!”

 

Crimson’s eyes widened and he hesitated for a moment, shifting his weight like a defensive animal.

 

He walked over to his cabinet of potions and fetched a small bottle, pouring it into a cup of rum. He took a long sip, showed her the empty bottom of the mug, and tossed the potion bottle to Erin. She caught it and stared at the symbol, realizing that it was his truth potion— the same one that he’d given her before scuttling the Aphrodite.

 

“Ask me what you will, I’m not going to lie to you,” he whispered, with a solemn tone. “Even if it were a question of utmost privacy…”

 

The bottle hummed a little against her fingertips, and she took a deep breath.

 

“Was there another person with you in this cabin just now? Are they still here?”

 

“No and no.”

 

“Were you manipulating my dreams tonight?”

 

Crimson’s eyebrows furrowed and his eyes widened, but he shook his head, “No.”

 

She felt frustrated— frustrated that she had no answers. Erin gently handed the bottle back to Crimson, but she had one more question, and she desperately wanted to know this answer.

 

“Did you tell me the truth after we kissed, that you weren’t the kind of man I would want?”

 

The potion worked its magic.

 

“No.”

 

His hand clasped over his mouth in fear, and she felt the tears threatening to spill over and run down her cheeks, but instead she took a sharp breath. Erin turned on the ball of her foot and pushed the cabin door open with a _BANG!_ The fresh air hit her and she walked towards the railing of the ship to let the night sky attempt to calm her.

 

Doctor Crimson was quick to follow, throwing his coat over his shoulders.

 

He had rejected her advances under the pretense that he could not give what Erin would wish in marrying a man, yet this had been a lie?

 

The corner of her eyes stung ever so slightly from the waves of frustration building up.

 

“Erin! Erin, I’m so sorry!” he sighed, standing behind her. She heard a tremor in his voice, “It was a complicated question, and the potion only let me reveal part of the answer. I… I suppose I could try to be the _man_ you wanted, but I would not be living a full truth in such a manner.”

 

Her nails dug into the railing. What would he know? What would he know about what she did and didn’t want?

 

Erin’s stomach was twisting into painful knots. Her next words were clipped with anger, but she refused to let him see her as weak;

 

“So you didn’t control my dreams tonight? You weren’t responsible for that nightmare?”  

 

 _You didn’t manipulate me into thinking that you have loved me for almost as long as I have loved you?_ remained unspoken. _‘Twas not your lips that touched my face, nor your arms that held me?_

 

Erin could hear him tense behind her, “I manipulated your dreams once and only once; and that was to help you confront your family. ‘Twas to show you how you truly viewed London, as something sunken and lacking of the opportunities you desired. Erin—”

 

She usually loved the way he pronounced her name, his accent muting the ‘r’. But it was painful to hear him say it now.

 

“— I would never give you nightmares. I couldn’t do that to you. Why? What did you see?!”

 

Erin decided to leave the first part out. Save them both from the embarrassment. Knowing that he was telling the truth, that the potion still had a hint of an effect on his lips, gave her more questions than answers. But at least she knew that was her own heart that made that dream.

 

“I dreamed of a man o’ war crashing into the Hallowed Falcon and sinking it. And… and I dreamed of a woman.”

 

“A woman? Can you describe her?”

 

Erin turned and faced him once more, her eyes still stinging from tears. He seemed a little afraid, and she could tell that— though he was still under the effect of the truth potion— he was choosing his battles carefully.

 

She nodded, “Blonde, mischievous, and mysterious. A pirate to be sure. She… she almost reminds me of you— it was the same woman who taught Abby and I how to fight in Nassau before you hired us to sail with you. Holtzmann. Her name was Holtzmann.”

 

All he murmured in response was, “Most curious. I wonder if you will cross paths with this woman again?”

 

“I don’t think so. She has a tendency to disappear on me. I don’t even know her first name.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

She shook her head, “It’s not your mystery to solve.”

 

“Are you okay, Erin? Do you… do you want my company right now?

 

She turned and wordlessly took his hand, leading him towards the steps that led to the stern of the Hallowed Falcon. They stood hand in hand at the railing, together under the stars. Though they’d agreed to not be sweet of each other, there were still moments when either one tested the waters. After a while, she slowly dropped the contact and let out a small sigh, whereas he glanced up at the night sky and pointed.

 

“Look, there’s Vlakives. And Pi’oci.”

 

Her eyes followed his finger to find constellations she did not recognize— Erin had attended a school of mathematics when she was younger and the teacher would not let them advance further unless they had studied such. That being said, he insisted that Galileo’s theory was inaccurate, and that the night sky rotated around God’s destined Earth. But these stars shone with a small amount of color to them; faint blues and yellows and reds and greens that could be mistaken if one’s eye was not focused. With the alluring black of the sky against them, they were breathtaking.

 

“That cannot be real!” she exclaimed, forgetting about the troubles that had upset her earlier upon an instant. “What… what magic is this?”

 

“My mother always called it _astronomysticism_ ,” he chuckled. “When you begin to open your eyes to the world of magic, new anomalies are revealed to you. ‘Vizards and ‘vitches may use these to find each other. They change every generation.”

 

“Impossible,” she said, with the hint of a smile on her lips.

 

 

Her heart was beginning to beat with a tranquility, like that of lazy ocean waves lapping back and forth on smooth sands.

 

He pointed again, whispering “Makalrion.”

 

“What are these names? The names of Witches and Wizards?”

 

He shrugged, “Some beasts, some famous events. And a few apprentices who didn’t listen to their masters and added the wrong ingredients. Like Uward the Daft.”

 

“They’re all so beautiful. I didn’t even know stars could be blue or red or any other color than white.”

 

“I’ve heard a theory that the stars are distant suns like our own, spread throughout the cosmos,” Crimson explained. “I wonder if humanity shall get to visit them someday.”

 

Several heartbeats passed in silence, as the two of them stared up at the night sky and reveled in the wonders available exclusively to them. Erin shivered a little and realized that her exhaustion had caught up with her. Slowly, she turned to her captain.

 

“I’m sorry I got upset with you,” the woman murmured. “How silly was it of me to assume there was another woman on board besides Abby, Pat, and I? And… no matter what you said to me after… after my mistake a few nights ago, it is your decision who you have affections for, not mine.”

 

He didn’t say anything, struggling for half a moment for the words to follow this apology. She took that as her cue to leave, her fingers lightly dancing on the rail as she made her way towards the quarters.

 

“Erin... “

 

She paused.

 

“A misunderstanding does not hold the same principle as a mistake.”

 

“Goodnight, Kenneth,” she spoke sweetly, yet with an air of finality.

 

As she walked to her cabin, a constellation that looked like a ship burned the brightest. She knew it meant something, possessed some merit; whether related to her dream or related to Doctor Crimson. She knew.

 

It was when she brushed against a wall on her way to the quarters that she felt an immense pain at her hip. She rushed to the nearest lantern and lifted her shirt to find— despite the scratches and blemishes from her previous tumble down a cave— a huge bruise the size of a cannonball where she had been thrown into the mast of the Hallowed Falcon during the end of her nightmare..

 

She wondered if what had happened was truly a dream, or a warning.

 

 

“I thought I heard you walking around in the wee hours of the mourning,” Abigail said, smiling as Erin let out a sleepy yawn.

 

“Just a bit of restlessness. Perhaps I am too excited to see what awaits us in Martinique.”

 

A pleasant dawn seeped in from outside, no matter how the Captain pinned the curtains (“No conjuring before breakfast, it takes grub!”). The sunlight hit her eyes and bounced off the surface of the tea cups like skipping stones across a lake. It made Ozahn's fur glow like a summer bonfire, and it weaved through the captain’s hair as if it were dancing.

 

Pat added quite a bit of pepper to her breakfast (scrambled Cubalaya eggs mixed with a fruit that Beckman insisted wasn’t poisonous). She took a bite before pointing her fork at Erin, “You really ought to sleep with some more bedding. Could be your bosom just isn’t comfy enough in that mattress.”

 

“I’ll decide what’s good for my bosom, thank you,” Erin retorted, though she couldn’t help the way the corners of her mouth turned upwards in amusement.

 

Throughout their conversation, Doctor Crimson kept silent, picking at his own plate. Stabbing the eggs. Shifting the fruit back and forth. Not eating a single morsel. If any of the other women noticed anything, they said naught— and Erin could only last three seconds of eye contact with him before retreating back into her meal.

 

“So is there any fortune telling or divination that one might practice to predict our odds, Doctor?” Abby asked. “Perhaps we can use the bones of this here breakfast to point us in a new direction after we’ve ransacked the French?”

 

Ever so faintly, he gave her a smirk, “There are a few ways, yes. Namely dreams. And nightmares.”

 

A clatter echoed through the cabin as Erin’s fork collided with her plate, having slipped through her fingers. She quickly apologized and picked it back up, hiding her embarrassment behind a cup of tea. The other women passed it off as nerves— timid, mousy Erin who was always dropping one thing or stumbling over another— but Doctor Crimson gave her a brief look.

 

Then, he turned back to Abigail as if nothing had happened.

 

“Typically, ‘zey are more vivid than the natural dream, and impossible to control. Such divination doesn’t happen by one’s will, but by the forces of magic themselves. Dreams can be manipulated, but those that tell the future are… something more.”

 

Neither Crimson nor Erin made eye contact, and yet the conversation had shifted to just the two of them. Not that the other two realized this.

 

“Scary,” Pat noted.

 

“Indeed. Of course, ‘zere are other types of divination. Entrail readings, which I refuse to do. Dowsing, which I actually use quite often. Cleromancy. Palmistry. Most folks dismiss those sort of practices as superstition, but I know a few witches who still enjoy reading fortunes in that manner. Personally, I look to the stars.”

 

“The stars?”

 

“ _Ja._ It’s an age old practice among those who don’t actually know magic, but for those of us that _do_ understand it... we can see years ahead. Nothing less.”

 

Pat raised an eyebrow, “What have you seen?”

 

“This ‘New World’ is going to see a great many wars, and a number of good things, too. There won’t be justice for everyone without quite a bit of suffering— that much I do know. But that is generations from now.”

 

They all finished their breakfast in timid, somber silence. Erin finally chose to look at him, realizing that he’d shared precious knowledge of the hidden stars with her; a knowledge that she might someday learn to use. Another part of her didn’t really need to see years ahead to know that her future was going to be spent with the people in this room.   

 

 

In this dream, they were lying together in his cabin. He gently bit into her collarbone, Erin’s whole body feeling as though it were on fire, and she let out a shaky groan at the sensation. In response, her nails dug into his shirt, attempting to claw at his back to spur him further. She almost wanted him to leave a mark that would stay there for years, and ran her fingers through his silky blond hair to pull him closer to her.  

 

 _“Your hair smells like… like one of your spells,”_ she smiled, kissing his forehead.

 

He seemed a little perplexed at this, _“Come again?”_

 

 _“I can’t explain it. It’s more a color than a scent I can pinpoint,”_ Erin said, kissing across his cheek and under his ear. _“Something golden.”_

 

Crimson grins and lets his hands trail down her stomach, his fingers beginning to unbuckle the belt at her pants. They kissed again and again, each time with more passion, and she hooked one of her legs over one of his to draw them ever closer.

 

Just as his hand began searching regions it ought not to search, she woke up.

 

“Dammit!” she hissed, the darkness of her quarters making her eyes feel useless. “What devil possesses my slumber like this??”

 

She slung her legs over the edge of her bunk and jumped down, not caring in the slightest if she woke up her friends. Abby grunted in her sleep and rolled over, and Patty blearily blinked at her silhouette in the darkness as Erin swooped across the quarters and out the door. She climbed the ladder that led to the deck and hugged her coat closer to her shoulders.

 

“Awake again?”

 

She jumped a little, but didn’t bother looking at Crimson. Her cheeks burned red with embarrassment, and the last thing she wanted to do right now was glance into the eyes of the man she’d just dreamed about.

 

“Unfortunately. I almost wonder if I’ve been cursed a second time, and I wouldn’t doubt it,” she muttered, her tone a little hurt.

 

“Nonsense. I would have noticed. Come inside, let’s get out of the cold.”

 

She reluctantly followed him to his cabin, sitting in an armchair and letting Ozahn the ocelot slither into her lap like a housecat. The predator weighed down onto her and made her feel rooted to the spot as Crimson poured himself a mug of rum and offered her some as well.

 

“Only a little,” she murmured.

 

Erin, remembering the last time she was inebriated in this man’s cabin, decided to remain of level head this evening. What little she sipped of the rum was in small doses, and she held out her hand when Crimson went to pour her another glass. Part of her wanted to have more, just so that she wouldn’t have to feel anything, but she knew it wasn’t the right choice.

 

“I imagine you need a distraction?” the captain asked, leaning back in his seat with a sympathetic glance. “While I brew this up?”

 

“Brew what?”

 

“A potion to help you sleep better,” he said, hiding his mouth behind the mug of rum.

 

Was he being shy?

 

Erin took a deep breath, “Well, that’s very kind of you. I could use the rest… these dreams are teasing, and I’d rather slumber in a void than in the taunting world that they create. What was your distraction?”

 

He stood up and walked towards the bookcase, pulling out what looked like a board of wood. Erin realized with a raised eyebrow that it was a piece of a woodcut, broken out of its original composition. ‘Twas a rather large section of a portrait, that of an older woman, and her eyes seemed to bore into Erin’s heart as she studied Crimson’s token.

 

“ _Pythoness_ , Albrecht Dürer, 1509, wood engraving, Nuremberg,” Crimson recited. He then sighed, “I’m afraid I have to apologize.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I haven’t been entirely honest with you on many a thing, but if you’ll allow me, I’ll begin to reveal the truth. The legends they speak of me being… two centuries old… do not belong to me. That is my adopted mother’s accomplishment.”

 

Erin was silent for a moment, a part of her unsurprised that Crimson had not told her the truth. But… she could see that it was hard for him to open up to her, the way he struggled to get the words out, his eyes momentarily darting to hers as if to ask for permission or forgiveness. It was the way he held himself tensely, as if to flee. He could probably count the number of people he’d told his truths to on one hand. Partly, she felt blessed to be given his honesty.

 

“Are you hiding anything else from me, Kenneth?”

 

He was silent as the grave for a minute, the gentle creaking of the ship sailing through the ocean serving as a symphony accompanying his thoughts.

 

He closed his eyes.

 

He let out a soft, but shaky breath..

 

He bit his lip and opened his eyes once more to look at her as he nodded.

 

“Yes.”

 

Erin knew that was as far as he was comfortable revealing, spotting the way his fingers trembled with a nervousness that… that she wasn’t foreign to. The more he opened up to her, the more she realized that they weren’t terribly different.

 

In time, she’d learn the rest. She did know that much.

 

Erin shook her head from that train of thought and pointed at the art, “Is that her in the engraving?”

 

“Aye. Rebecca Gorin. Her best kept secret was being friends with all the artists of the Renaissance— the scientists and authors and even some politicians as well. She would enchant their paintbrushes and tools to work faster and more accurately. Or perhaps give them notepads that wrote down what they were thinking, blueprints that drew themselves. In exchange, they gave her secrets, information on political schemes, scandals of far off countries— that sort of thing.

 

“Da Vinci. Machiavelli. Dürer. Copernicus. Shakespeare. Margaret Roper. Lady Sforza. They were siblings to her, adoring her every time she taught them a new rune or brought them potions. They all kept her existence a secret, knowing her fate if authority were to be informed.”

 

Erin couldn’t stop the smile on her face as she blurted out, “Shakespeare??”

 

“Ja. Told him all about one of her rivals… erm… ‘vat was her name?? Sycorax! They hated each other for generations! Mother stuffed her inside of a tree! He made a character based off the witch and sent the first copy of the play to Mother. But of course she couldn’t read it...”

 

The eyes in the engraving definitely seemed as though they were following Erin.

 

She attempted to tune back into what Crimson was saying;

 

“... throughout Germany alone, she cured people of illnesses and placed indiscreet hexes on lords and princes. The Borgias received no less than three dozen curses within a year from magically inclined people around Europa. She used illusions to quell mobs and corale the clergy away from other witches and wizards. My mother could cause rain to fall on fields of dirt, and have a full harvest of crops bloom the next day.”

 

It was obvious that he’d heard these stories recited orally so many times as a child that he had only the most dramatic recountings in mind.

 

“What happened?” Erin asked, curiosity bounding forth.

 

Crimson took a sip of his beloved rum and stared thoughtfully at the wooden engraving— floating in the air— before continuing;

 

“The Church identified her. It had become suspicious to some people in Germany that a woman who claimed to be a mere herbalist had been seen unaging generation after generation; and that wherever this peasant wandered, both luck and misfortune followed. They saw it as the presence of demons, or Satan himself. She wasn’t the only one of course. It began in 1626.”

 

“The Würzburg Witch Trials,” Erin recalled.

 

She didn’t pay as much attention in her history lessons as she did to her science lessons, but members of the church her parents forced her to join had often enjoyed reminding her of how powerful they could be. They liked making examples of other “heretics”.  

 

Ozahn the ocelot rose from her lap, climbed onto the dining table and stretched for a moment, then leapt across the room and pressed his nose into the curtain. Crimson took that as his cue that the predator wished to visit the jungle. The captain rose, snapped his finger, and pulled back the curtain— the sounds of bugs chirping and birds calling filled the cabin for a moment before he dropped the curtain and snapped his fingers once more.

 

“Where were we? Ah… Würzburg. Well, my mother didn’t wish to stick around for very long. She disguised herself as a soldier and rode across the country on horseback for two weeks before reaching Rotterdam, taking a ship to the ‘New World’. The Dutch were settling in New York at the time, and she figured that if she got far enough into the frontier, she could be left alone to her own devices. Without a church following her every move.

 

“She became a pirate, dressing as a man and hiding her true identity. It was easier to command men as a one herself. Took on the name Doctor Crimson, and began the stories. For sixty years, she used her magic to scare, plunder, and conquer these waters, all without aging a day. And sailors form superstition quicker than most, ‘twas easy for them to fear the Hallowed Falcon.”

 

The former textile merchant took a deep breath, anxious to hear more, “What happened?”

 

“It ‘vas an accident. Truly. My mother was never sloppy with her magic, never impulsive. Never evil. But... she has pride— well earned pride, of course— and got into an argument with the crew on handling prisoners. She got too angry.

 

“The storm wasn’t her fault. He pushed her to a breaking point, and she lost control. She conjured a hurricane that destroyed half a dozen ships up near the colonies. My… my real parents were aboard one of the boats, and they didn’t survive. Rebecca pulled me— barely a week old— from the wreck, along with the few sailors that had survived, and decided to raise me as her own.”

 

“Oh… Kenneth… I’m sorry…”

 

“It’s alright,” he shrugged. “You cannot miss people you never knew.”

 

“That doesn’t make it any easier.”

 

“No. But at least she cared for me, and loved me. And taught me everything I know.”

 

Erin blinked, “How? Were you born with magic?”

 

“Nonsense. Magic is spread by spending a great deal of time around another magically inclined person. You must form a true connection with that witch or wizard, you must have their trust, and their powers will begin to pass on to you. It slowly happened to me at a young age, and I’d mastered many a spell before my first decade was up. It was my mother’s dream come true. But just as she lost her ability to read two-hundred years ago in order to wield magic, I had to give up being able to use my voice constantly. I think that was her plan, as a mother, that she wouldn’t have to deal with an insolent brat that screamed and threw tantrums— smart of her.”

 

 

“How old are you really?”

 

Crimson down the rest of his alcohol and stifled a belch, “Thirty-two. My mother gave me the Falcon when I turned twenty-five.”

 

“You’re _younger_ than me,” Erin laughed. “No wonder you have so much energy all the time! Will you live a few centuries as well?”

 

Crimson thought about it for a moment before answering, “It’s possible. Those that delve too deep into magic may abuse it and destroy themselves in the process of attempting immortality. Therefore, most witches and wizards are content with only half a millennia or so.”

 

“Only half a millennia,” Erin deadpanned.

 

“ _Ja_.”

 

“Well… um… thank you for telling me this, Kenneth. Thank you for trusting me enough to let me know this much.”

 

“Of course. I should probably retire before my voice disappears and I embarrass myself. Ah, but your potion! Here, Miss Gilbert Erin Gilbert, take this and you’ll sleep with naught but the comfort of silence.”

 

He pushed the bottle into her hands, his fingers lingering for a moment as he studied her with curiosity, then confusion, and then embarrassment. He quickly turned away and let out a nervous laugh.

 

“Pray tell it wasn’t Beckman that left that. Any of the other men would be fine, I can assure you, but I might faint if it’d been him.”

 

Erin scowled, “I beg your pardon?”

 

“You’re… um… your neck.” Doctor Crimson gestured at his own collarbone in an attempt to explain, “The b-blemish.”

 

Erin’s fingers flew to a spot on her neck where the skin burned slightly hotter than the rest— where her dream version of the captain had bitten and kissed her. Just as with the bruise on her hip, _this_ had transferred as well? Oh! Kenneth assumed that a crew member had left this on her in _real life_!!

 

How embarrassing, how could she explain?!?

 

“No!” she spluttered. “It was… a night of fun with some sailor at our last stop, nothing more. I promise I’ll take care of it!”

 

Crimson nervously chuckled, “You’re a grown woman, Erin. You can practice whatever sins with whomsoever you desire. It’s not for me to judge.”

 

His eyes refused to meet hers.

 

She awkwardly nodded, thanked him for the potion, and left the cabin feeling more disappointed than ever. Why had she not said that the mark was a mere injury? _“A night of fun”?!?_ It had not been her intention to appear as though she disregarded him so quickly, dammit, and it had been _she_ who acted jealous yesterday when she assumed Crimson slept around with random women!

 

What he must think of her!

 

Erin took the potion in her quarters, crawled into bed, and let out a frustrated sigh into her pillow. Abby mumbled for her to shut it, so instead she turned on her side and stared at the wooden walls that made up the hull of the Hallowed Falcon.

 

She began to think about what the Captain had said about dreams telling the future. She began to think about seeing the silhouette in the cabin, and the gasp that had to have come from a woman when she’d been bathing. She began to think about her training in Nassau. She began to think that the pirates and the women weren’t alone.

 

And as she closed her eyes for a night of dreamless sleep, Erin decided that somewhere on this ship, an elusive stowaway who went only by the name Holtzmann... was hiding out of sight.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, it's so much fun to torture my queer children. Guess what?? We have a new author/editor!! Please give it up for IllegalKittens!! Soon I'll have a small army, mwuahahahaha! I'd apologize that this was a day early, but I was just so excited to introduce our new creative mind and post a really long chapter and get started on the next one (which is going to be my favorite one...). 
> 
> Ok so, tell me what you think... who was the silhouette in the cabin?? Ok, get real. What's up with Erin's dreaming?? Is Crimson ready to tell her the truth?? Are Abby and Pat ever going to make the bet trope that you see in every single fic in this fandom?? FIND OUT NEXT WEEK!
> 
> And yes, there is a reference to another Holtzbert fic in this chapter. See if you can spot it...


	14. Not a sky. Not a star. Not a dream.

 

The entire crew worked in a meticulous silence, doing everything they could to slither into the harbor of Fort-de-France without raising alarm. So far, everything had worked perfectly ー the Hallowed Falcon drew no suspicions sailing south past Saint Pierre. Despite Crimson’s insistence that his famed rival Admiral Hiess served under French colors, the Navy didn’t seem to recognize the ship. 

 

“We never sail this far east,” he shrugged, when Erin had asked him about this. “If my mother had, that would have been years and years ago.” 

 

“So was she rivals with Heiss as well?”

 

“Not on a personal level like I am. He wouldn’t recognize her, but he’d recognize the boat ー it would be best if we docked in town and I snuck my way into the fort. Draw less attention. Risk fewer lives.”

 

Beckman nodded and quietly commanded the crew this way and that to hide evidence that they might be pirates, folding up the black flag that usually stood proud on the top of the mast and placing it in Crimson’s office. Abigail and Pat were to smooth talk any officers that attempted to inspect the Hallowed Falcon when it docked. 

 

“If the Vichor you use is so limited and precious, why did you waste three cards on Kingston?” Erin asked.

 

“Oh, don’t worry. The spell is a permanent addition to the boat. I merely mutter an enchantment from now on, and it ‘vill have the same effect as before.”

 

“Really?”

 

The captain grinned, “Want to help me cast it?”  

 

“Surely I wouldn’t provide any true assistance?”

 

Doctor Crimson gently picked up her hand and set it on the railing, covering it with his own. He muttered something in a combination of German and a language Erin instantly knew to be older than written history. For a brief moment, her fingers were shocked with a painful static. Then, just as it had in Kingston, the boat began to change colors, shapes, and texture. 

 

It was not his hand that glowed golden with magic, but her own.

 

“How are you doing that?” she whispered in awe.

 

He winked, “I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

 

Once more, the name on the boat read Stonebrook. Mahagony had transformed into beechwood, and white sails had replaced the crimson ones. 

 

“Transformative magic. Once the initial spell is cast, you may swap between the item’s original appearance and what you would like it to look like. Useful for changing the color of something, or perhaps disguising a precious object. But it won’t turn, say, a piece of food into an actual piece of metal. It can only change the shape and give it a metallic texture. The flavor can be a bit off, but it was worth it to see Beckman’s face when I bit into a cannonball.” 

 

“Anything could be transformed?”

 

Crimson nodded, “Aye. It takes concentration, but any object can be altered.”

 

Erin scratched the back of her neck as she looked around, “And what about something as big as a ship? Is that harder?”

 

“Well, you saw how many cards it cost me in Kingston, but the enchantment is permanent. You need only whisper the words, and we can change the colors and textures of this ship back to their original appearance. And again and again.”

 

A pirate walked up to their spot on the deck and handed Crimson his sword, polished and sharpened in case something were to go wrong. Erin didn’t understand, though, why she wasn’t given one as well. Why Abby and Pat were lounging around on barrels. Why Beckman leaned against the mast watching birds sit on the ropes. 

 

“Are you going alone?” she asked.

 

Crimson sheathed the sword and tucked a knife and a pistol into his belt. He gave her a moment’s glance before nodding. 

 

“I don’t want to attract attention, and I don’t want to kill anyone if I can help in.”

 

Erin gave him a scoff, “I would’ve thought that you might barge in and cast spells left and right. ‘Twas my first impression of you, after all.”

 

“Well,” he smiled, “maybe you’re rubbing off on me. Look after the crew for me, will you?”

 

He stepped onto the fishing dock where they’d moored, one foot in front of the other as he began to stride through town. Erin felt… abandoned. She’d been expecting to accompany him, at least, for it seemed these days all their adventures were  _ together _ , and she didn’t know how to hold herself all alone on the ship without him. Crimson was always at the Hallowed Falcon (save for their brief attempt to steal it). 

 

They waited. And waited. Within five minutes, Erin was pacing along the ship with her hands behind her back, glancing up at the fort for any sign of strife; she was ready to bark orders, take up arms, and aim cannons. 

 

“You’re going to burn a hole in that fort if you keep glaring at it like that,” Pat sighed.

 

Erin whipped around, ready to snap a snide comeback when she realized that Abby was in front of her, holding a musket. She gently pressed it into Erin’s hands without a word and pointed at the fort.

 

“You want me to follow him?”

 

Abby shrugged, “You want to follow him, I’m just giving you permission.”

 

“Permission? You’re not my mother, Abigail.”

 

“And yet you cannot make astute decisions unless I am in the same room as you.”

 

Erin opened her mouth, but then realized that her best friend was probably right. She made a face at her, gave her and Pat hugs, and hopped over the railing and onto the dock. Beckman made a comment about how she’d used the wrong door, but the rest of the crew was silent.

 

She slung the musket over her shoulder, letting the familiar tug guide her through the town and up the hill. There were a few fields of foliage nearby, and she spotted the shape of a human amongst the leaves. Erin ducked behind a tree to avoid a duo of sleepy guards and inched closer to the vegetation.

 

Crouching really took its toll on her legs, but if she were spotted, she would surely be executed. Or at the very least, thrown in jail. Erin was ten feet away from the figure when she realized it wasn’t quite Doctor Crimson hiding among the leaves.

 

It was Doctor Crimson’s face magically melting away and into that of the mysterious Holtzmann.

  
  


 

 

 

 

 

  
  


 

Just as Erin got close enough to announce her presence, Holtzmann rolled towards her and wrapped her hand around Erin’s mouth. They lost their collective balance and fell into the dirt, but Holtzmann pinned her in a manner to keep the both of them  _ perfectly still _ . 

 

“Don’t make a sound,” the blonde woman hissed. “There’s a guard just beyond that fence.”

 

Her eyes went wide, not from the confoundedness of it all, but because she could truly hear Crimson’s voice in Holtzmann’s. Not simply because of the accent, of course, but the tone and deep hum to her words that Erin always loved.The clothes on Holtzmann’s body were those that the captain was wearing as he had disembarked the vessel, her weapons were the same— Erin wasn’t going to admit it out loud, but they even smelled the same. She relaxed in Holtzmann’s grip, prompting the younger woman to release her hand and focus on distracting the guard leaning against the fence post. 

 

Her hand glowed golden from a slight amount of magic as she willed a wheelbarrow across the field to tip over.

 

Intrigued and concerned, the guard lifted up his lantern and drew his sword— slowly walking towards the source of the commotion just as Holtzmann had intended. Her long fingers latched onto Erin’s wrist and she silently tugged the former merchant around the stables, under a cobblestone bridge, and into a shed that stored ammunition.

 

There was dust everywhere, and absolutely no light until Holtzmann lit the tiniest of fires in her palm— not keen to set any gunpowder alight. Amid the flickering, the shadows cast on Holtzmann’s face made her seem completely menacing, and the fear in her eyes caused a great uncomfort in Erin. The blonde woman gently pressed her weight against the door to secure it.

 

“Pardon me for asking,  _ Crimson _ , but who the hell are you?” Erin prodded, as soon as the room was safely secured.

 

Holtzmann turned very, very slowly. 

 

The eye contact between them lasted several moments, and only soft breathing could be heard between the two of them. Erin could almost see the calculations Holtzmann was making in her head about how she might tell the truth.

 

But Erin would not let this woman out until she knew what was going on, that much was certain.

 

Holtzmann’s hands were shaking, and she wouldn’t have noticed if it weren’t for the complete stillness everywhere else in the room. 

 

“My birth parents named me Jillian. It’s the name Rebecca uses for me as well.”

 

“That’s it? You’re not going to tell me anything else, lass?”

 

Holtzmann glanced up, pouting a little bit. It was obvious the shame she felt at having lied to Erin, mixed with the embarrassment of being caught.

 

“I disguise myself as Crimson to keep a bounty off my own head. And it was easy to copy the ruse my mother had crafted for herself. She ‘vas the original Crimson, after all.”

 

“So when I asked you… when you took the truth potion... “

 

Holtzmann shrugged, “I told you the truth. Or at least, I answered truthfully the questions you decided to ask. I was prepared for you to ask of my disguise, ready to tell the absolute truth, but I suppose it didn’t cross your thoughts.”

 

“I’d suspected you were hiding aboard the Falcon, but I didn’t think.... Jesus, Holtzmann, I only have five friends in this entire ocean and you’re telling me that two of them are the same person??” 

 

This caused the younger woman to grin, her fear slowly melting away, “You’re not angry?”

 

She wasn’t entirely sure of what she was supposed to think in that moment. Everything she remembered about Crimson was altered but stayed just as  _ familiar _ . The man Erin had fallen for was … Holtzmann? 

 

Oh, no wonder he…  **_she_ ** had asked to end things when Erin had kissed Crimson, for Erin had been kissing a woman! Oh, how embarrassing— Holtzmann must have been positively uncomfortable beyond imagination! It made Erin squirm just picturing it!. What was worse, Holtzmann surely knew how much Erin had loved Crimson, and sat through it all in silence while the former merchant continued to further humiliate the both of them! She must have feigned passion during the kiss so as not to hurt Erin’s feelings, too.

 

Something shakespearean, to say the least.

 

But there was no time to dwell on it in that moment. She let out a sigh of anxiety and shook her head.

 

“This miffs me a little,” Erin said, grabbing the other woman’s hand. “But we’ll have time to talk about it on the ship.” 

 

Holtzmann’s expression changed to one of confidence, and she crouched low, motioning for Erin to follow her lead. They unlatched the door of the ammunition shed and snuck out, Holtzmann taking an immediate right and heading towards the main office.

 

“Can I ask you why you… erm… undisguised yourself?” Erin whispered, once they were in sight of where Holtzmann suspected they kept the maps.

 

“I didn’t want to risk them being able to trace me back to the Falcon if I got caught. That, and men are easily swayed by a woman’s charms, should it come to that.”

 

“You’re one hell of a pirate.”

 

A lovely tapestry of the West Indies adorned the wall in place of paintings and other decorations. Erin studied it for a brief moment as Holtzmann rifled through the cabinets and bookshelves. She almost seemed to recognize it, perhaps from her textile dealing days, but shook the feeling off. A lovely gold lace served as the letters and words, and beautiful depictions of sea monsters dotted the empty spaces of ocean, here and there. Her hand drew towards it, almost wanting to snatch the tapestry off the wall, but something seemed to stop her. Almost… as though it were an entity she was not ready to encounter.

 

But how silly! How could a piece of fabric have any sort of prowess in fate?

 

“Erin! Give me a hand, will you? You can read these a great deal faster than I can!”

 

She turned away from the tapestry and walked up to Holtzmann’s side. The pirate had spread a collection of charts onto the desk of Admiral Heiss and was attempting to sift through them. She let out a frustrated huff.

 

“I don’t think that it’s here. But… from what I know of the map, one must be both magically inclined  _ and  _ able to read to use it. I’m barely of use in ‘ze world of literature and you’re…” Holtzmann’s hand was left hanging in the air as she struggled to think of a word.

 

“— less than ideal.”

 

The captain looked at her with wide blue eyes, eyes that Erin had come to appreciate in the past few months. Yet… they looked so different on Holtzmann than they did on Crimson. Softer and wiser, not battle-hardened but experienced all the same. Innocent. Her eyes looked truly innocent.

 

“How can you say that? You’re nothing short of the greatest person I’ve ever met.”

 

She felt something break then and there. Erin knew that she couldn’t love a woman, and she couldn’t betray Jillian’s freedom to enter a relationship with Crimson. He… she was right; she wouldn’t be living truthfully as the man Erin wished to marry, no matter how the older woman felt. No matter how much she loved Kenneth, she would not hurt Jillian. But it would be hard to hear these things and know that if they were spoken from the mouth of a man, they’d be the words of true love.

 

Erin sighed, “Even though I couldn’t see through your facade? Especially after all that we… after all the battles and adventures?”

 

“You’re ‘ze first person who’s ever managed to discover this secret. I’ve told a scarce amount, but only people I trusted without question.”

 

That was the wrong thing to say.

 

“So you don’t trust me, then?”

 

For the first time that night, Holtzmann seemed on the edge of tears, and something crumbled in Erin to see the pirate she’d fallen in lo— the pirate she’d grown close to let down these carefully constructed walls. She spoke in a soft whisper that Erin didn’t think  _ Crimson  _ could ever be capable of;

 

“There’s not an ocean out there where you can find a version of me that does not trust you. Not a country. Not a sky. Not a star. Not a dream.”

 

“Why, then?” she asked.

 

Holtzmann couldn’t bring herself to answer, her mouth opening and closing as she stared at the stone flooring of the office. But Erin knew the answer, she’d known it since the moment she watched Crimson transform into this woman.

 

Jillian had been scared.

 

“Let’s get as many of these as we can,” Erin abruptly said, desperate to change the subject. “Abigail and I can decipher them as soon as we’re back on the Falcon. I’ll bet they have secrets to share, or perhaps hidden trade routes we might conquer?”

 

The younger woman shook her head and snapped her attention back into the present. “Yes, of course.”

 

A cacophony of angry yelling broke the both of them from their discussions and Erin had to focus all of her memory on her childhood education to remember French. Not that her teachers were keen for English children to learn the language of their hated enemy, but Erin simply could not be kept away from the books that translated one culture to another.  

 

“Look alive!” a voice outside shouted. “We found one of our own knocked out and thrown into a haystack by the main gate! There could be an intruder in the fort!”

 

Erin turned to Jillian, “You said you weren’t going to use violence when you left the Falcon!”

 

“I said I ‘vasn’t going to  _ kill  _ anyone!” Jillian protested, shrugging and throwing her hands in the air.

 

‘Twas just like their old banter, and Erin let herself pretend that nothing was going to truly change as she snatched Jillian’s wrist with one hand and the pile of maps with the other. They raced out of the office and through the fort’s fields, not caring if someone spotted them. And when the sentries did just that, Jillian weaved every which way with Erin to avoid oncoming bullets. A miracle that they weren’t shot. 

 

The town was relatively quiet, save for the stomping of soldier boots and rustling of beggars and livestock to clear a path for the manhunters. Erin and Jillian managed to find an alley that had a perfect escape route directly to the Falcon when the older woman realized that her partner wasn’t following her.

 

Erin stopped and turned to find Holtzmann muttering an incantation— the exact same incantation that she’d used to disguise the Hallowed Falcon hours before.

 

“Transformative magic,” Holtzmann repeated, her voice growing deeper. “Once the initial spell is cast, you may swap between the item’s original appearance and what you would like it to look like. Useful for changing the color of something, or perhaps disguising a precious object. Like I said, it takes concentration, but any object can be altered.”

 

She watched as magic crossed from one side to the next over Holtzmann’s face, the way a wave laps over a beach’s sands. A nose that became crooked. A beard painting itself over her jaw and mouth. Hair that went from silky and shiny to rough and dirty. Wrinkles and blemishes  _ ruining  _ smooth skin. The pirate grew taller and more muscular, too, though Erin doubted that this person needed magic to prove their strength. 

 

His eyes. They were cold and hardened, and even though Erin had spent months knowing them and appreciating them and even  _ loving  _ them, she suddenly wished to see Jillian’s eyes once more. 

 

“‘Zat is the purpose to all this, Erin,” the notorious Doctor Crimson muttered, in a low and dangerous voice, “The concept that some secrets are powerful… personal… and more damnatory the longer you dance with the devils.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> hERe sHE IS! My girl! My beautiful girl is here and queer and Erin's a dear! I was gonna push back the big reveal a few more chapters but some earlier chapters got combined and this happened! Don't worry, we still have plenty of angst and slow burn left!
> 
> Leave your gosh diddly darn comments!


	15. And Something More

Erin found herself fascinated with the concept that Holtzmann seemed have a far greater sense of humor than Crimson merely because she felt willing to show emotion. 

 

On the return route to Nassau, with Abigail and Pat hunched over the charts for the past few days, Crimson decided to have the crew dock the Falcon on a nearby island and rest up for the afternoon. All the other pirates took to drinking and dancing, playing games and the like, but Erin and Crimson elected to take a silent walk along the shoreline.

 

Something had shifted, somewhat, and Erin felt she could finally breathe the same air as this other person without feeling heartbroken. 

 

Finally they plopped down on a boulder by the sand, Erin cleaning her gun and the captain playing with a crab, picking it up and inspecting it with a hint of curiosity. A question remained on the tip of her tongue for a few moments, threatening to burst out, before she finally gave in and voiced it aloud.

 

She wished to know more about Crimson’s identity, but dared not lose the valuable friendship they shared, praying that he would trust her enough to talk about this;

 

“Does it give you more power? This transformation that you do?”

 

Crimson glanced up from the crab and gave her a soft, sad smile. With a wave of his hand, magic began to spread across the pirate’s face and smoothen out rough edges, clean up and even bring a small amount of cosmetic to her eyes and mouth, and shrink her shoulders to those of a woman’s. Holtzmann looked at her once more with a laugh dancing across her lips.

 

“Not at all. Being a man pays more, earns me more respect. It’s not that the men who work for me hate women, they truly do harbor a great affection for you and your friends… but I oft feel a… craving for the fraternity that those men share, and I suppose I choose to experience it because I already have the means.”

 

“How much of your vichor did it cost?”

 

“A good chunk of my original card deck. I’ve enough left for… two hundred years of magic? That is, if I’m responsible about it.”

 

Erin let herself relax in the other woman’s presence, and cracked a grin that reflected her ever changing personality, “When were you ever responsible?”

 

 

 

 

Her friend let out a scoff, gently setting the crab down. The critter scuttled away and into the safety of the warm ocean waves and Holtzmann took off her boot to begin drawing circles and spirals in the sand with her toes. Erin mirrored the action.

 

She couldn’t help the way her eyes kept skipping to the right to catch a glimpse of the way a soft light danced through Holtzmann’s bright blond hair. How smooth her features were. Her eyelashes were purple with a mascara that was surely a result of magic, as Crimson was not one for cosmetics. Erin actually enjoyed comparing and contrasting the two, as they seemed like very different people, and she couldn’t seem to stop staring.

 

“Will you… will you keep this between us?” Holtzmann quietly asked.

 

“Of course.”

 

A beat.

 

“Do you trust me enough to talk about it?” 

 

Holtzmann took a deep breath, “What do you want to know?”

 

“Who do you prefer being?”

 

“Myself. As for which set of trousers that person wears, I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t say if I wished to be neither, either, or both a the same time. Perhaps I am a woman,  _ and  _ something more, if not man.”

 

Erin couldn’t quite understand, but supposed it was because she looked at the world in a naturally different manner. She glanced down to realize that she’d been polishing the barrel of her pistol for the past ten minutes and little else, placing the gun back in her holster and shrugging.

 

“Whoever you are, you’re the captain. I don’t think that’ll change.” 

 

 

. . .

 

 

She’d slowly developed the ability to recognize the stars that only magic could reveal, particularly appreciating one that looked like an ocelot as she walked up to the captain’s cabin and lightly knocked a few times on the door. The weight of her book gave her arms a slight soreness, but she shook it off as she waited.

 

Crimson must not have heard her, but Erin figured that the captain wouldn’t mind. She opened the door and shut it behind her, glancing up to find Holtzmann in the middle of undressing.

 

Her body was covered in nicks and scars from years of fighting at sea, but Erin only caught a brief glimpse before Holtzmann let out a gasp of shock and hid behind the curtain. Erin felt confusion at the other woman’s embarrassment and turned her back. She was reminded of when Crimson had caught her bathing, but this felt different. More of a secret than before.

 

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Erin apologized. 

 

“Just ‘vasn’t expecting you. Why did you… is something the matter?”

 

Holtzmann popped out from behind the curtain with a clean white shirt and trousers, putting her hair back up. Erin hadn’t realized how long it was, and a part of her wanted to take it out of its bun and play with it. She shook her head.

 

“Lessons, remember?”

 

“You… you’re still going to teach me reading?”

 

“Why wouldn’t I?”

 

Holtzmann looked a little shy at this, and Erin sat down at the table with a raised eyebrow.

 

“You didn’t think I wouldn’t want anything to do with you just because I know this secret of yours, did you? Even if that were true, I wouldn’t abandon your desire of knowledge. Everyone deserves an education.”

 

The captain shakily sat at the table, and Erin couldn’t help but feel a little entranced at this softer, shyer side of such a fearsome warrior.  

 

“I suppose you ought to learn how to write your actual name? I would imagine there are two ‘l’s in Jillian and two ‘n’s in Holtzmann. No, no, there’s a ‘z’ there.”

 

Neither of them acknowledged the tear that Jillian wiped away when she finally managed to write her name correctly. They went back to their regular lesson for roughly an hour, and when Crimson procured an entire page of writing in relatively neat script, Erin almost turned her head and kissed him— but stopped when she remembered that it was Holtzmann sitting at her side. 

 

She ignored the way her heart beat in pride for the woman.

 

“I should go,” she whispered, unsure of what to do with her feelings. “You ought to continue practicing.”

 

“Oh, erm, alright.”

 

Erin felt a little shame at just abruptly leaving without explanation, but she didn’t think she could spend another minute alone with someone she’d so recently harbored feelings for. Two familiar figures were lounging around outside on night shift.

 

“A night of frolicking with the captain?” Pat laughed.

 

Abby lit a pipe, “Has he shown you his ‘sword’ yet, Erin?”

 

“Come off it, you both know that it isn’t like that.”

 

Pat shrugged, “You spend a lot of time with him— even after your little mishap, I would’ve thought he’d accept your advances by now.”

 

Erin hesitated, almost blurting the truth as to why she had ceased her struggle for romance, but remembered Holtzmann’s request to keep the secret between the two of them. She shook her head and snatched the bottle from Pat’s hands.

 

“There are no advances to speak of. We’re merely friends. Besides, he’s… spoken for.”

 

“What? I’ve seen no ring!”

 

“Maybe they do things differently in Germany,” Erin lied. “Matching war paint or something. Maybe he has a magical ring that our feeble minds can’t see!”

 

Abby frowned, “Still… if a man has lived out here for a few generations, he ought to keep his beloved with him. Not that I’m one for romance, but I’d still hate to spend a great deal of time away from someone I love, and he’s centuries old!”

 

Again, Erin had to hold her tongue.

 

“It’s a mystery, but I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of it… some other day.”

 

Abigail was content enough with the answer, gazing out at the dark ocean horizon— but Pat gave Erin a look of disbelief before the former merchant feigned an excuse of exhaustion and headed to bed. She felt absolute misery at having to lie to her two best friends, but didn’t dare jeopardize Holtzmann’s privacy.

 

. . .

 

 

Three drinks down, and she could still walk in a fairly straight line across the pub. That wouldn’t do. 

 

The Hallowed Falcon had yet to reach Nassau, and Beckman had suggested to Crimson that they stop so that the ship could catch its breath— to which Crimson deciphered that the Irishman had meant the crew get some rest. With a desperate need for inebriation, Erin practically dragged Abigail and Pat towards the nearest watering hole, promising to pay for the drinks. 

 

“Slow it down, Gilbert. This is fairly strong stuff!” Pat laughed, watching her knock back another tumbler of whiskey.

 

Erin made a face, “I’ll be drinking as much as I desire tonight.”

 

A waitress delivered another round of drinks to their table without asking for coin, to which the women questioned.

 

“Compliments of the ‘gents by the door,” she smiled, revealing a mouth missing several teeth. “The young blonde lad in particular.”

 

Abby shrugged and started on her third drink without so much as glancing towards the table of sailors. Pat gave them a nod, but also decided not to spark any conversation. But Erin caught the eye of a lad, a few years younger than her, and stood. Despite the protests of her friends, she strode across the pub and leaned over the sailor’s table, reaching out and stroking the collar of his jacket.

 

She was good and drunk by now.

 

“I suppose it was you that bought those drinks, lad?”

 

“Y-Yes, ma’am!” the sailor stammered. It was obvious that he wasn’t expecting anyone to come over.

 

“Well, I haven’t got all night, and I need someone to help me finish off this bottle,” Erin winked. She wondered if her speech was as clear as it sounded in her head, but it didn’t matter to the lad, who jumped out of his seat and ignored the laughter of his friends to join her. 

 

But she led him past her table and up towards the rooms, tossing a coin towards the bartender for a bed. 

 

As soon as she’d shut the door, she pressed the man up against the wall and kissed him, her nails digging into the back of his neck. She needed to get a certain pirate out of her head, and this lad was blonde enough to do the trick. Her tongue mixed with his, but he was a little sloppy and very uncertain about the whole thing. 

 

Erin pushed him down on the bed and began unbuttoning her shirt as his hands clumsily stroked her sides. She wanted to roll her eyes, but didn’t have the coordination and ended up blinking instead. 

 

Overall, the whole affair was a little pathetic, and certainly one of Erin’s more regretful experiences. She left the room while he was sleeping with her coat slung over her shoulders and a stumble in her step, and though there were still crewmates scattered around the pub, her friends had long since departed. Perhaps they’d gone to another pub. 

 

It took her fifteen minutes of careful walking not to fall off the docks and into the water, but Erin managed to drunkenly climb aboard the Falcon and trip her way into the female dormitory. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Crimson leaning against the doorframe of his cabin and observing her with amusement. 

 

When she awoke the next morning, she had a nasty headache amplified by the bright Caribbean sun streaming into her quarters and glanced over to find a potion resting on the table. In sloppy, but familiar handwriting it read;

 

_**~~Contre~~ ** _

 

**_~~Controcep~~ _ **

 

**_To avoid the birth_ **

 

She took the potion and laughed, feeling endearment towards Holtzmann’s thoughtfulness. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot about that I post chapters every week, guys. 70% of what you just read was written in the 3 hours before I posted it. That's why today's chapter is so short...
> 
> Please leave comments and tell me what you think.


	16. Research

 

Nassau, still a few leagues away, was a sight for sore eyes on the horizon. Erin eagerly climbed into the crow’s nest and practically tossed her riffle onto its stand as she caught an even more spectacular view of the haven. A large patch of green dancing among thousands of little blue waves (with a few white caps here and there). 

 

Even up so high, ocean spray tousled her hair, and she took a moment to release it from its usual ponytail, letting a wild, untrimmed mane flow behind her. 

 

It felt good to have some alone time, despite the cacophonous presence of the crew beneath her hideaway. They sang some song about a sailor named Johnny or a drunkard named Danny, and though they were too busy to articulate the words during their voyage, the melody was quite beautiful.   

 

“Oh, that’s quite the climb,” Abby grunted, pulling herself into the crow’s nest. “You’re a bit of a spider, you know that?”

 

Erin chuckled and grabbed her friend by the wrist to prevent her from falling as they settled into a nestle of sorts, knees knocking together and admiring the sun beginning to bloom from beneath the ocean blanket. 

 

“The ocean is so beautiful. We should be thankful for it, watch it more often,” Erin sighed after a moment, earning herself a rather amused look from her friend. “What?”

 

“We’ve been staying on a boat for quite some time, Erin. I’m sure we see enough water to last us our lives,” She teased, but nonetheless turned her gaze to the water with a warm look in her eyes. The waves were glittering lightly, washing back and forth under the sun’s colorful hue.

 

Erin grinned and pushed Abigail’s shoulder gently. “You get what I meant. Coming up here with the purpose of just enjoying things.” 

 

Abby smiled. “There’s something about you today,” She started, moving some of the hair from her face that had been blown around by the breeze. “You seem … happy. And I’m glad to see that.”

 

Erin smiled and tilted her head just a bit. “I guess I am.”

 

“Those men can really make a tune sound pleasant,” Abby murmured into the almost bitter-smelling air. Erin nodded in response.

 

Then, there was silence (save for the singing below) where the women simply enjoyed each other’s company as they really did savor the sight before them. 

 

“There room for me up there?” Pat called from below, her voice boisterous as ever. 

Erin attempted a few responses, such as  _ You can try!, _ but only in vain as Pat was unable to hear her. She eventually settled on shouting out, plain and simple, “ _ Yes! _ ”

 

“I don’t understand how you two can just climb up like it’s nothing,” Pat said, nearly out of breath much as Abby was upon her own reach to the top. 

 

“You’re the one who’s been a sailor her whole life!”

 

“Stayed down on the deck at the helm.”

 

For a moment, not a soul stirred in the crow’s nest, with legs tangled and torsos pressed up against one another. The wind combed through Erin’s hair and whipped it into Abby’s eyes, to which her friend responded by braiding it up within a matter of seconds. 

 

“Want some?” Pat smiled, unclipping the canteen at her hip.

 

Erin pulled the stopper out and sniffed the contents of the metal bottle, “What is it? Something fruity?”

 

“Aye, perry. Traded it for a copy of the bible to a lad from Barbados yesterday. Thought you might enjoy something a little… drier than rum.”

 

“You bet your arse,” Abby laughed, snatching the canteen from Erin. “What are we doing after Nassau?”

 

“Captain thinks we ought to try our luck on a more dangerous route, might be a bit more rewarding.”

 

“Risky.”

 

“Aye, but you and I know that he can do anything,” Pat shrugged. “If I had that witching magic, I’d sail a boat wherever I wanted, too. Perhaps I’d try to sail all the way to another land across the ocean, where they couldn’t so much as recognize English.”

 

A scent caused Erin’s nose to twitch in confusion, and she quickly recognized it as burning wood, turning her head back towards the horizon to realize that a ship aflame was slowly drifting towards their own, carried by innocent, gentle waves. The other two women scrambled down the rigging to assist the crew in looking for survivors, but as Erin lengthened her spyglass and peered through it, she saw naught a soul aboard.

 

The sounds of crackling and creaking split the air like thunder as the foremast slowly split away from the body of the ship and tumbled into the ocean. It couldn’t drift away, with rigging still connected to the rest. Like sinew to bone. 

She heard voices down below giving commands;

 

“That’s it, lads! Bring it in so we can get a good look!” Beckman shouted at the crew, as grappling hooks latched onto the abandoned ship.

 

“We’re not vultures, leave the loot be,” Crimson ordered, slinging his coat over his shoulders. “Retrieve the bodies if you can!”

 

Erin realized very quickly that if this’d been the work of another ship, they might have company slinking around nearby. She scanned the horizon and thought she saw something slink into the fog but ignored it, slowly turning her spyglass to Nassau.

 

Her jaw dropped.

 

The town itself was fine... but half a dozen ships in the harbor had been torn in half, and set aflame by the fires that followed a battle at sea. Erin shouted down and pointed out the chaos, and the captain commanded the Hallowed Falcon to sail towards Nassau in haste, releasing the wreck behind them as he used a spell to amplify the strength of the wind.

 

Erin slid down on the spare rope and landed on the deck, meeting her best friend at the helm.

 

“Where there any survivors of this one?”

 

“No.”

 

She glanced of his face, its sullen and angry look. Though pirate battles were well and fair in these oceans, she could tell that Crimson didn’t like not knowing what had happened here. But they needed to bring the bodies back for proper burials.

 

 

 

 

Bodies strung up all over the beach etched a new permanent memory within Erin, attended all around by the respectful living. And even more wounded littered the sands beside them.

Crimson didn’t even hesitate, ordering his men to spread themselves evenly along the chaos, from distributing medicine to carrying out what was left of young lads to attempting salvage of the floatsam strung along the shoreline. 

 

“Steady, son! Steady!” Kenneth huffed, leaning over a writhing boy and applying pressure to the gash on his stomach. 

 

 

Erin hurried over to catch the conversation (and because she didn’t think she could stomach the sights of the beach unless she possessed her friend’s reassurance). She almost wished she’d stayed away, now reckoning with the sight of bile spilt all over the blankets next to him; the poor boy threatening to vomit again.

 

“It came out of nowhere!” the lad whimpered. “Nothing I’d ever seen!”

 

“What? What was it?”

 

Crimson grabbed the lad’s shoulders and shook them a little to focus the boy’s dazed eyes. Erin tugged his wrists away as the poor child struggled his last breaths. 

 

“The Kraken! It was… it was the Kraken...”

 

“‘Vat?”

 

The deckhand who’d been at the boy’s side nodded, “That’s what the others said, sir. Said that Captain John Jackson’s boat was quarrelling with a Spanish frigate when a third boat appeared and began firing shots. More privateers came to Jackson’s rescue from Nassau, and that’s when the Kraken showed up. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen some of the wrecks strewn along here. Cannonballs can’t do some of that damage.”

 

She followed the deckhand’s outstretched finger to the sight of a mast, twisted up into a knot and lodged in the side of a cliff a little ways from the town. She wondered if something had twisted it up and tossed it towards land the way a scholar crumples up a piece of paper and destroys an idea.

 

A pensive expression crossed Crimson’s face, and he backed away from the boy’s warm corpse to take a deep breath. Before she joined him, Erin leaned forwards and closed the poor lad’s wide brown eyes. 

 

“Rest in peace.”

 

The sand beneath her feet suddenly felt thickened and her movements sluggish as she walked away from the body. The pirate was only a kid, in truth, and didn’t deserve such an early demise. He… he was young enough to be a child of Erin, had she settled down in London, and the thought managed to root itself in her head as she joined Crimson. The pirate was headed back for his boat.

 

“I need to do some research. We… we need to do some research,” he stammered, without looking back at her.

 

“Kenneth!” Erin protested. How could he just abandon all those people in need? She turned and checked to see if anyone was nearby. She let out a quieter hiss, “ _ Jillian! _ Where are you going?”

 

Crimson stormed onto his cabin, not even bothering to prop the door open for her, and instantly began tearing the place apart for information on the monster. He let out a frustrated growl as his inability to read got in the way of his search and nearly singed a book’s cover as he tossed it behind him anger. Erin leapt forth and snatched his wrists, pulling him into a chair and forcing him to look at her.

 

“Kenneth… calm down… let me handle this.”

 

His eyes were dark with anger, perhaps even a fear that there might be a monster out there that could defeat his ship, but he let his struggle against her grip cease. 

 

“Kraken starts with a ‘K’,” she smiled, turning and rifling through book after book.

 

Most of this information must’ve been gathered by Beckman, who likely assumed that Crimson  _ could  _ read. A great deal of it was just charts and logs of other ships in the West Indies, but Erin managed to find a small shelf of sea critters and rifled through the collection. 

 

A small, tattered journal with scrappy handwriting had a picture of a cephalopod on the cover, and Erin assumed that was what they were looking for. The author was an R. North, and the journal’s most recent entry was from 1543, meaning the author wasn’t likely around anymore to answer their questions. She began reading aloud;

 

_ “Records of the beast span all over the world, but what I’ve managed to decipher is that it makes it’s home in the New World, according to accounts by surviving explorers. The beast did not attack, even when they spotted the beast from a distance, but did grow aggressive around the same time that the Italian and Spanish attacked the Lucayan and Mayan populations. Was it perhaps trained? Defensive of a people? Or could that have been a coincidence?” _

 

Crimson took a deep breath, “Something so rare as that would be magically inclined, and such beasts must be summoned. Perhaps the Lucayans had control over it.”

 

“But… their people have been wiped out by ours. Who would be left to command it to attack pirates and Spanish navy? Why?”

 

He merely shrugged, still confined to the chair by the boot Erin had planted on his knee. She lifted it and tossed the journal into his lap.

 

“The drawing in here is surprisingly detailed. It almost looks like my mother’s hand.”

 

“Where did you get this, anyways?”

 

“It was in here when I ‘inherited’ the Falcon. I think it might’ve come off an English ship before that.”

 

“It did, did it?”

 

Kenneth glanced up, “What are you thinking?”

 

“That we ought to visit your mother. Even if she couldn’t read this journal, she’d know more about such a beast as this than we could ever discover on our own. If nothing else, she might be able to point us in the right direction.”

 

He slowly lifted himself out of the chair, having calmed down from his fear and now staring at his giant map of the West Indies with a smile.

 

“She lives near Tortuga. Here.”

 

 

 

 

For a moment, Erin found herself content with watching his face soften at the thought of visiting his mother, and then she turned to exit the cabin. They still had a lot of people out on the beaches to help, and if she put enough effort, she could prevent more deaths like that young boy. Crimson remained behind, lost in thought.

 

 

 

 

The town was in a quiet, mourning entropy that night. Pirates solemnly carted their deceased friends up towards higher ground to bury the bodies in a safer location. They didn’t dare venture out of the bay for sea burials from fear that the Kraken might return and make corpses out of them as well. Abby, Beckman, and Pat were exhausted from helping out all day and decided to remain aboard the ship for a quiet night rather than solicit in the pubs with the other deckhands.

 

Erin and Kenneth made their way towards the house he kept in Nassau.

 

“Are… are you alright? You’ve been quiet all day,” he murmured, as they trudged up the hill.

 

She took a deep breath, “Yeah. Yeah. I’ve just seen a lot today.”

 

“I’m sorry that you had to go through all that.”

 

“It’s a part of being human. We take care of perfect strangers because… because we need to,” she shrugged. “I just hope I can sleep tonight.”

 

“It should be pretty quiet on the island for a while. Out of respect for the dead.”

 

She expected him to pull a key out of his pocket to unlock the door, and nearly laughed when instead he took the seashell necklace off his neck and pressed the tiny shell against the doorknob. The door opened with a click! and they disappeared within like shadows. Crimson lit the house with a wave of his hand, a fire blooming to life in the hearth and almost instantly evaporating the ocean water in Erin’s boots. 

 

“I’ll cook us a hot meal. Erm… make yourself at home,” he said, gesturing loosely at the room.

 

There wasn’t much in the way of furnishings. A small round table with two chairs, a painting of a woman that could only be Rebecca Gorin (this one dated 1654), a comfy looking bed in the corner, a worn rug, and a kitchen filled with rusty pans and magically sealed bags of food.

 

“Apologies!” Crimson called from the kitchen. “I’m not used to having company… and my mother was not one for furnishings when she first came to Nassau.”

 

“Do people ever ask questions about the house on the hill that never has any occupants but still looks perfectly maintained on the outside?” 

 

The captain smiled as he began chopping vegetables, “People tend not to ask questions the moment they realize the house belongs to a dreaded, magical warlord of the seas.”

 

“Your bark is worse than your bite,” Erin muttered, under her breath.

 

The floorboards creaked as she made her way to the little dining table and slumped into a chair.

 

Her feet ached from running back and forth all day from makeshift doctor to would-be corpses to actual corpses. At first, she hadn’t believed that the Kraken could be behind the attack, but after realizing how many people had been hurt despite the lack of gunshot wounds, she was certain. Her arms hurt even more, from an hour that evening when they’d realized that, some ways down the shore and away from town, a washed up boom had pinned two survivors into the the sand. Some attempted to dig the men out, and others (including Erin) attempted to lift the boom out of the sand. Eventually they managed to free both pirates, but the damage had been done, and neither drew another breath after having spent hours crushed by such an object.

 

It was enough to make Erin either cry or throw up, and she didn’t know which would come first.

 

“Here,” Kenneth murmured, putting a bowl of hot stew in front of her.

 

“Thank you.”

 

He sat down across from her and poured wine into two slightly rusted mugs with a silence of graves. She took a few bites of stew and then looked up.

 

“May I… um… nevermind.”

 

“What is it?” Kenneth asked, touching her hand in concern.

 

“I was wondering if I might dine with you?”

 

“Is that not what ‘ve are doing?”

 

Erin shook her head, “I meant if I might dine with Jillian?”

 

For a moment, the captain went stiff with reluctance, and then he softened. Crimson’s face slowly changed with a gentle murmur of the spell’s binding words, and when Erin glanced up from her bowl, Jillian was staring at her with a kind, sympathetic look.

 

“I can only imagine that my presence is more calming after a day like today?” she asked, smiling. 

 

Erin nodded, feeling colder when Jillian removed her hand. She returned to her meal, a different energy hovering between them as they huddled together while eating. Erin glanced out the large windows that looked down upon Nassau, hundreds of questions about Jillian’s identity on the tip of her tongue. She didn’t know why, but Erin wished to know everything about this mysterious woman she called friend. 

 

 

 

 

Deep down, her soul knew why she wanted to know more about Jillian. But her brain couldn’t quite place it, not just yet.

 

So she would remain patient for now, and the look in Jillian’s eyes told her that such a virtue was earning her the other woman’s trust. Their glasses clinked together as they chased their meal with the rest of the wine, and the hole in Erin slowly filled with a warm buzz as they cleaned the dishes together (without magic). She assumed that the buzz was from the alcohol, but a part of her knew better.

 

“I should have more blankets somewhere around here if you get cold,” Jillian murmured, pushing a few bags together in the kitchen and laying down on top of them.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“I assumed you wanted the bed?”

 

Erin glanced at it, and sighed, “There’s room for two.”

 

“Erm… ‘vell… yes, but I figured you wanted your space.”

 

“Jillian, you’re going to hurt yourself sleeping like that. Come on.”

 

Erin tugged her best friend to her feet and… and for a moment they were almost nose to nose. Jillian sucked in a deep breath and turned away, prompting confusion in Erin as they both stood there for a moment. Then, she gently guided her friend to the bed (which was, in truth, rather large and could even fit three people).

 

As they closed their eyes beneath the sheets, she couldn’t help but feel as though Jillian was giving her too much space.

 

But when they woke up in the morning, they were tangled together, and it’d been the best night of sleep Erin had ever had.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh! So sorry that it took me an extra week to put this chapter up! Finals week is a b*tch, and also I'm lazy. But this is the chapter we need, queerties, for now the plot begins to thicken! Also our lovebirds had a nice little date at Holtzmann's house (even if they won't admit it). 
> 
> Please leave comments! I'm not dead yet!


	17. Polished and Sharpened

  


 

 

Erin woke up surrounded by a comforting warmth that she’d never really experienced before. It took her a moment to realize that Holtzmann’s arm was thrown over her waist, their legs tangled together. Holtzmann’s chest was pressed against her back, and every breath her best friend took echoed through her as well. She remembered that she’d negotiated Jillian into sharing the bed with her the previous night. It cast a smile on her face, and for a moment she gave in to her body’s wishes and nestled further into the warmth.

 

Peace spread throughout both the empty house, and through Erin’s soul. This feeling was completely foreign, except perhaps she could make a comparison to a moment of her childhood when her mother gently pulled her out of bed and tucked her into her parent’s bed for the night. But this still felt different. Less like family and more like a bond that she’d been longing for.

 

And then Holtzmann’s face shifted in her sleep, and her warm lips firmly pressed against Erin’s neck. 

 

A harsh gasp erupted from Erin as she felt pleasure shoot through her; the same pleasure that she felt for Doctor Crimson. Her hips bucked up in need, her fingers grasping the sheets. A moan threatened to escape her lips as Jillian’s hot breath collided with the spot below her ear. Great confusion equally sweeping through her prompted her to throw the covers off of the bed and untangle herself from her best friend’s limbs.

 

Holtzmann sleepily mumbled something in German, her voice a mixture of feminine and masculine. 

 

Erin backed into the kitchen, her hands reaching back and gripping the counter for stability. A hunger danced through her bones and it took everything in her not to walk to the bed and explore this. Oh god, it was taking everything. 

 

_ I… I’m attracted to Holtzmann? Am I sure that this isn’t… feelings for Crimson that are transitioning to her? Maybe it’s because I haven’t had a proper partner in a while… and… _

 

Her excuses were fading.

 

_ I need to do research _ , she thought. 

 

But the truth was that her parents had thrown her into the church after she’d tried to tell them about the scars on her back. She’d spent years in those halls learning about the sins punishable by burning, and that hatred was still interred in her. It didn’t matter that the pirates of the West Indies were more than welcoming of that sort of love, especially since there weren’t enough women for all the men living here, but Erin… she needed....

 

She needed time to process this. 

 

Erin gently slipped outside of the house and let the humid air hit her. Holtzmann must’ve been using some small magic to keep the place cool and dry like the cabin of her ship, and Erin instantly wished she could go back inside. Just for the temperature, yes, not for anything else.

 

“I should go get some food for breakfast,” she said to herself.

 

It was then that the smell hit her, and she remembered what had happened yesterday. How many people had died. Erin took a deep breath, ignoring the atmosphere, and continued down the hill towards the market place. She used her own pocket change to pay for some eggs and meat, and perhaps a bit of bread in case the animal products of Nassau were questionable. There was a somber air about the island.

 

Erin allowed her feet to trudge her back towards the house, and even though a hidden part of her soul yearned for the excitement that she’d felt when she’d woken up… another part of her felt dread.

 

“It’s naught of concern,” Erin told herself. 

 

She opened the door and collided with Crimson, nearly breaking and spilling the fresh groceries in the process. One arm was in his jacket and one hand on the doorknob, a disappointed look in his eyes. When he realized that Erin had returned for breakfast, though, his face lit up in a bright, beautiful smile.

 

“Good morning!”

 

“To you as well,” the former merchant smiled. “I didn’t know if you kept any food here, so I went out and bought some.”

 

“Oh! You are too kind, Miss Gilbert!”

 

“Come on then,” she laughed, pulling him by the elbow, “I want you to teach me how to magically cook.”

 

Crimson shrugged, “Will you teach me how to non-magically cook?”

 

“Are you serious??”

 

“‘Vat? There was never any need not to! Or Benny would cook for the crew!”

 

Erin got to work, pulling out a dusty frying pan and cleaning it up with a bit of water and a rag. Crimson slid up next to her and began pinching exotic colored ingredients from jars on the shelves as a mortar and pestle peacefully floated over from one of the cabinets. He must’ve been making some sort of sauce for the meat, and as Erin began cooking the eggs she caught a whiff of an absolutely spectacular aroma. She placed the pan over the fire that Crimson had made while she’d been in the market, waiting for them to cook as she faced the captain.

 

“So… I wanted to ask you something?”

 

“And ‘vat would that be?”

 

Erin’s eyes twinkled with a curiosity that’d slowly been growing within her since the first day she’d met Doctor Crimson. She smiled and leaned against the brick hearth, letting the stones pleasantly warm aching muscles. A tranquility floated in their bones.

 

“What… what was the map that you sought after? Both aboard the Aphrodite and in Martinique?” 

 

Crimson’s fingers twirled in the air, and she heard a scraping sound behind her. He must’ve been using magic to stir the eggs so that she didn’t have to move. 

 

“Mage circles are fairly close knit, so if some rumor of a magical relic spreads, it spreads all over the world. For a very, very long time… there have been whispers of this map.”

 

“And where does it lead?” Erin asked.

 

“The Lucayans were defeated by the Spanish, but only because of guns and disease. Most magically-inclined people around the world knew that they had amazing magical talents, and there were even rumors that their  _ deities  _ weren’t mythological. That their deities would bestow all sorts of powers upon Lucayan warriors and sorcerers worthy of protecting their empires. One of the first magically-inclined explorers to reach the West Indies, some British lad, made a map upon meeting the Lucayans to a tomb that sheltered one of their more powerful kings. Suppose to be a source of infinite magical power. Can you imagine never needing to use Vichor again?”

 

“I can’t, but that’s because I don’t use magic,” Erin said. 

 

Crimson chuckled at this and then shrugged, “I’ll hear a whisper of it again. It’s not like I’m short on time.”

 

“You… you said that the sorcerer communities were close knit. How do you not know who the British explorer was, if he was indeed magically-inclined?”

 

He cleared his throat, “Well, names are a rather powerful thing when it comes to casting curses. Or  _ removing  _ them. It’s quite common to not know the real name of a mage, even if you’ve been friends with them for generations. It’s why Mutter and I used the Doctor Crimson alias.”

 

Erin stayed silent for a while, another revelation of how much Jillian trusted her coming to light.

 

“Infinite power, huh?” she asked, pulling the pan away from the fire.

 

“‘Vell, I’ve found that there are better things within reach than ‘zat.”

 

“Such as?”

 

She turned to find Jillian setting the table and smiling at her; messy blonde hair pulled back into a sleepy ponytail and lacking of her usual makeup. Holtzmann thought about it for a second and then winked.

 

“Pulling pranks on the best of friends.”

 

Erin laughed only a little, sobering up quickly to ask, “But if you were willing to sink my boat in your fervor to find this map, why would you abandon your search so suddenly?”

 

A guilt crossed Holtzmann’s face, and even a flash of pain. She put her fork down and took a sip of water before leaning back in her chair and spending a few moments contemplating her answer. Erin knew that this shame was hard on the poor girl, and she almost wanted to laugh and place the blame on a man as brash as Crimson if they weren’t the same person. It was hard to connect sweet, eccentric Jillian to the pirate that’d robbed Erin, but unfortunately it was the only option. 

 

“Is it strange to say that befriending you is slowly destroying that desire?”

 

“A little.”

 

Jillian sadly smiled, opening her mouth but pausing… as if she harbored a million confessions on the tip of her tongue. She took a deep breath and traced the grain of the wooden table with a lone finger before whispering a sentence that almost broke Erin’s heart;

 

“Maybe your presence brings me a safety that disinterests any need for power.”

 

 

  


 

 

“Where are we going, Kenneth?”

 

“A while back I placed an order at the local armory. I figured you would make for good crew when you tried to steal my boat, so I decided to purchase a replacement for that rusty razor of yours.”

 

Erin glanced down at the weapon holstered at her hip and bit her lip. The blade had a rather unbalanced feel to it, truth be told. Attempting to keep up with Crimson weaving through the crowded alleys of Nassau, she reached out and held onto his elbow. Some might’ve even mistaken them for a married couple. 

 

“I suppose I could have merely saved you the trouble and picked up a nice blade during one of our raids.”

 

“Nonsense! I have plenty of money to purchase only the finest for my lady! Erm, my lady friend!”

 

He pushed the door open to a general merchant’s store (thankfully not the stuffy gentleman whom Abigail had poured tea on way back when they’d been looking for work). The young lad working there was drunk off his ass as he slowly counted the coins spilling from the purse in Crimson’s hands. He then shuffled off and returned with a fine sword; with a make worthy of an officer’s station. Erin fingered the golden lining of the handle in awe as Crimson signed the delivery and tipped the drunkard, before gently tipping the sword off the counter and into her hands.

 

“I trust you’ll keep it polished and sharpened?”

 

“Every night,” Erin murmured, still awestruck. “Is this a form of payment for the reading lessons?”

 

“Hmm… ‘vat was it you said all those weeks ago? ‘A gift is nothing to be ashamed of’? Perhaps you’ll accept such as a token of my friendship?”

 

He couldn’t hear her as he led them towards the warehouse where Holtzmann had first taught Abigail and Erin to fight, but the former merchant murmured a gentle, “Thank you, Jillian” as she ran her thumb across the edge of the blade.

 

The door swung open after the both of them had tugged on it for a minute, and Erin threw her coat to the side before raising the sword, instantly eager to test it out. Crimson chuckled at this, instantly jumping into the fight and forcing her to concentrate.

 

Battles usually terrified Erin, toying at her nerves as she tried to keep herself alive. This time, however, felt different. She swung out with all her might, knowing that Crimson was strong enough to deflect, and didn’t feel an ache in her bones when the sword bounced back. She managed to keep herself from falling when he stuck his leg out and attempted to trip her. 

 

“You’re getting better at this!”

 

“I have a wonderful teacher!”

 

Erin hit the hilt of her sword against his hand and kicked him in the thigh, pushing the captain into a few barrels. She nearly let out a cry of triumph but was stopped when she heard Jillian let out a whimper and a groan of pain. Her hands covered her face, but Erin feared the worst.

 

“Oh my god, Jillian! I’m so sorry!” she yelped, rushing to her friend’s side, only to have her sword nearly struck out of her hand as Holtzmann rushed forward with a devilish grin, catching her off guard.

 

“Let your walls down, didn’t ja?” 

 

 

 

 

Holtzmann’s sword clashed against her again, the pirate laughing as Erin struggled to keep up. The fight felt fair enough, but she still harbored a little embarrassment at having been tricked. Then… something happened.

 

She channeled that embarrassment into anger, and that anger into determination. She twirled the hilt and forced Holtzmann’s wrist to twist uncomfortably, before elbowing her friend in the stomach.

 

“Oof!”

 

Holtzmann’s sword went flying, clattering against the stone floor of the abandoned warehouse.

 

Erin, despite having hurt her friend a little, couldn’t help but feel pride at having finally disarmed someone. And a master at that. Both of them stood there, heaving as they attempted to catch their breath. Then, Holtzmann leapt forward and engulfed Erin in a crushing hug, laughing as she spun the former merchant around. Erin, careful not to injure either of them with the sword, embraced her back with just as much strength and sank into the contact. 

 

Time seemed to slow down for a moment, as though magical forces permitted the entropy to last longer than it should have. Her jaw rested against Holtzmann’s neck, and if she turned her head just so, she might mirror the action Holtzmann had done (albeit unconscious) that morning. The mere thought made the region below her stomach squirm like a snake, her knuckles trembling and her lips begging her soul for the permission to kiss Holtzmann’s neck. And her shoulders. And her jaw.  God, Erin suddenly wanted to know with all her heart what this woman tasted like. Within a second, she pictured what it would feel like to wake up in the bed they had, but without any clothes on; their bodies tangled so tightly that she might feel Jillian with every fiber of her being. What it would feel like to have Holtzmann to slowly touch her. To quickly touch her. Even to drunkenly, roughly fu― 

 

_ Oh… oh it really is something, isn’t it? _ she thought with sadness in her heart.  _ I really do feel an attraction to Jillian, just as I do with Crimson? _

 

They stayed in the embrace for another moment, and Erin made up her mind.

 

_ She can’t know about this. I can’t bestow such a discomfort upon her. _

 

Fortunately, Jillian untangled from the hug, saying, “I hope we stay the best of friends for the rest of our lives. You’re the first woman in my life who’s befriended me in such a personal manner… and I find myself unsure of ‘vat I would do if we were to cease such a miracle.”

 

“Oh… you needn’t worry,” Erin said, struggling to find the words that might diminish her true feelings. “What we have won’t change.”

 

 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's like beating a dead horse, only it's the oblivious!Erin trope. On another note, sorry I was a little late with this one! I just needed to get in the mood and then suddenly I was like "let's make the chapter sexier than we were planning???" and that got me writin', and if that doesn't tell you about me as a person, I don't know what will...
> 
> Leave! Your! Comments!


	18. Discovery

 

 

 

She pushed her down, gently, and pressed a kiss to her collarbone. It was everything Erin had ever wanted, and more. The former merchant let herself be controlled by dominating, but soft hands as Holtzmann pinned her wrists above her head. Their lips met and Erin let a moan melt into Jillian’s tongue as it began pushing into her mouth. If it weren’t a moment that she’d been longing for, for what seemed like years, Erin would have been battling for dominance in this dance. But she merely relaxed against the pillows and let Holtzmann show her the way.

 

 _“You taste amazing,”_ Holtzmann smiled against her shoulder. _“And I haven’t even gotten to the best part, yet.”_

 

 _“Take your time,”_ Erin groaned, lightly scratching down her lover’s back with her nails.

 

Jillian let out a similar noise at this, her hands slipping downwards onto Erin’s sides as her hips grinded with Erin’s. It was a wonderful feeling, finally having all of Jillian to herself, with no walls to keep her from exploring this newfound treasure. Jillian was hers.

 

Erin, with a great deal of energy, flipped them around and let herself dominate the younger woman, leaving harsh red mark on Jillian’s neck. Holtzmann let out a gasp, and a small amount of flame escaped her mouth as she whispered something in both magic-speak and German. Erin bit down a little harder before kissing the tender spot and smiling against the reddened skin. Then, she moved lower, unwilling to lose this control that she’d gained over her lover.

 

_“You are something else.”_

 

Erin took a nipple into her mouth and switched between gently sucking on it and using her teeth, prompting moans from Jillian that she planned to commit to memory. The Hallowed Falcon rocked and teetered from the storm outside the cabin, rain splattering against the windows, but inside felt like a completely different world. Like nobody else even existed in the West Indies but Jillian and Erin. She switched to the other nipple.

 

Jillian’s fingers threaded through her hair, pushing Erin slowly down her stomach and towards her nether regions. Erin laughed a little and then took a deep breath, knowing that this was what she’d been longing for… for ages.

 

And then she woke up.

 

She fucking woke up!

 

Hair stuck to the back of her neck and she could feel how flushed her cheeks were. Erin instantly sat up in her bed, ignoring the fact that she wasn’t wearing a shirt, and checked to see if Abigail and Pat were around. How embarrassing it would have been if they’d, you know, _heard_ anything. Thankfully the two of them were on night shift. Erin too a deep breath and ran her hands through her hair, trying to deconstruct the painting of Jillian that her dreams had given her.

 

 

But like most things she did, that ended in folly. Erin’s core burned with need, and for a moment naught but an absolute guilt raced through her bones at the thought of pleasuring herself to the image of her best friend.

 

Or she could go back to sleep? And just try to make the aching within her go away by hiding under the covers, compared to feeling a bliss at the thought of making love to Holtzmann. What a dilemma.

 

It wasn’t hard for Erin to decide.

 

“Jillian doesn’t need to know about this,” she softly whispered to the midnight around her.

 

Erin’s hand lowered beneath the waist of her sleep trousers, and she laid back on the pillow. Her eyes automatically closed and in the midst of the darkness, the memory of the dream resurfaced. She imagined Jillian on top of her, the two of them leaving bite marks just as they had in the dream. Erin’s free hand weaved through her hair as if Jillian were doing so, and a small groan escaped her lips.

 

Her other hand began rubbing faster, with a need to bring all of this to completion, and she let herself picture Jillian’s hands― her mouth loving Erin’s body. Giving her a pleasure no other person had ever given her. Erin pushed her fingers inside herself and nearly cried out Jillian’s name to the darkness.

 

She bit her lip to keep quiet, but her oncoming orgasm threatened to shout to the world how much she wanted Holtzmann.

 

Erin began throwing herself into it, the softness of the night replaced with the intensity of need. She covered her mouth but whimpers still escaped as her hips bucked into her hand and the phantom of Jillian within her mind grinded into her body.

 

She was close. So close.

 

_“You are spectacular, an enigma on the seas and far too fair for half the men in this world.”_

 

Though the words were originally spoken from Crimson’s lips, Jillian’s voice was the one whispering in her ear. Erin forgot to breathe as light and dark and air and sky collide within her. Her back arched off the bed.

 

“Jillia…. ah…” she moaned.

 

A small puff of smoke escaped her lips, and for a moment she heard words in a mixture of English and magic-speak before her brain had reassembled enough to realize that it was her saying such things. The cloud lifted from her lips and hovered into a ball before slithering out the window. But Erin was too disoriented from her climax to realize that she’d just cast a magical spell.

 

 _She’s never finding out about this, even if I have to die tomorrow to keep it a secret,_ Erin thought, her chest heaving in aftershock and a sly smirk spreading across her face.

 

 

 

 

 

“You’ve been avoiding us.”

 

“No!” Erin shook her head, putting her hands up in defense. “I’ve been… with the captain.”

 

Pat placed a crate on the hatch that led below decks and sat on top of it, barring Erin from escaping the confrontation. She’d decided to stretch her legs and go topside (seeing as there wasn’t much to be gained by returning to the realm of dreams), only to be confronted by Abigail and Pat.

 

“What is with that man, anyways?” Abby asked.

 

Erin nervously shifted her weight from one foot to the other, “Erm… come again?”

 

Pat leaned forwards on the barrel and gave Erin a smile, “Come now, whatever secret that man is hiding, you know it.”

 

Erin scratched at her nose, trying to think of an excuse on the spot. It wasn’t her personality to hide things from friends, but she couldn’t just go spewing someone else’s secrets for all to hear. She… she needed Jillian’s trust like air and water. Like medicine to a wounded soul. Abby looked a little left out that Erin had suddenly chosen to spend so much time with Doctor Crimson, but Pat had a knowing look in her eye― as if the sailor already suspected the truth, but wanted to hear it from Erin’s lips.

 

“It’s not something I can tell you,” she pleaded to Abigail.

 

“What?! Come now, he casts magic and he’s devilishly handsome, surely he has a weakness that you’ve found out by now! The suspense is killing me, Erin!”

 

Pat sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose, “You don’t want to know how many theories she’s come up with.”

 

Both of the other women seemed to glow with a happy energy amidst their teasing of Erin, as though the time spent on the Hallowed Falcon had healed them from the exhaustion that simply comes with life. Pat gave Erin a wide, warm smile with eyes like fireworks, and for a moment the former merchant was tempted to tell her everything. She leaned against the railing of the ship and sighed.

 

“I couldn’t do that to J― to Kenneth. His personal life isn’t anyone’s business but them that he shares it with.”

 

Abby gave a loud, exasperated scoff and rolled her eyes. Pat, as though she were rewarding Erin, stood from the barrel and placed it back by the mast. She then joined Erin’s side and glanced up at the stars.

 

 

“My Pa always loved making new friends,” she said. “Was one of the first things he taught me to do, really. And it takes a lot of trust to maintain such a wonderful thing― like a gardener to her flowers. We didn’t mean to force you to chose, Erin, we just like our gossip like the old ladies that we are.”

 

“You aren’t old.”

 

“Aye, not with a man like Crimson on board.”

 

Erin decided that she could let a little bit slip, something so unimportant as that.

 

“He’s only thirty-two.”

 

Pat laughed a little, “I knew that much. Only a young’un could be as brash as he.”

 

Abby pulled a pipe out of her pocket and lit it, sitting on the railing and puffing clouds of smoke into the sky. She reached over and ruffled Erin’s already messy hair.

 

“Wish we had music aboard,” she smiled.

 

“You’re not angry?”

 

“Nah,” Abigail laughed. “Just remember who your best friends are around here.”

 

“I can have several best friends, thank you very much.”

 

Erin inhaled the smoke in the air and had a light memory of London, of boys tossing mudballs of her and Abigail coming to her rescue. Of the two of them weaving through forgotten alleys in search of adventure. Of how the docks were always their favorite place― how easy it was for the two of them to find convincing of the New World’s treasures. She leaned up against Abby and rested her head on the other woman’s shoulder.

 

“We’ll never be separated, by Hell or high water.”

 

Pat joined them, and together they formed a makeshift hug. Erin’s face fell into the tallest woman’s shoulder and she let herself feel a sort of sisterly warmth that she’d never had before. It felt as though she were learning how to become a new person, blooming from a bud that someone had gently coaxed to life. A pirate’s garden, safe from the storm.

 

“What’s next for us, then?” Abby asked.

 

Erin gave her a quizzical stare, to which her best friend shrugged.

 

“Are we on this boat for the rest of our lives?”

 

“Knowing the span of an average pirate’s years, we won’t be here for long.”

 

Pat huffed, “Say we figure out all this Kraken business, and we make a fortune off piracy. Where do we go after this?”

 

Erin hadn’t really thought about it. She cast a glance on the horizon and let a small sigh escape from her nose. What would there be out there for them beyond this? Or rather, what wouldn’t there be? Surely she could always find conflict, what with a shot as skilled as hers; and the skills that her best friends possessed. But… that was if Jillian had no more use for them, or simply couldn’t afford to keep them around? What if something happened to Holtzmann or the Falcon?

 

The thought filled Erin with a slight amount of dread. What if her time with Jillian was limited? The lass spent so much of her time in battle that Erin might actually stumble upon her best friend gravely injured… or worse. She didn’t want to think of the thought at all, and shook her head.

 

“I suppose we could buy some property out here. Start our own town of only women. Live like Amazons?”

 

“You’d have to live without your boyfriend,” Abby pointed out.

 

_No I wouldn’t._

 

Pat seemed to notice the glint in Erin’s eyes and smiled, “I’m sure little Gilbert here can find a work around. She always does.”

 

 

 

 

She was already awake, sending her friends to bed just as the morning sun began to peek out from underneath the ocean blanket. Erin pulled a flask out from a pocket in her coat and took a small swig, not wanting to start the day (and face Jillian) without a little bit of blur in her vision.

 

“Erm… could I trouble you for a sip?”

 

Erin turned and found herself surprised to see quartermaster Kevin Beckman, sitting on the deck, hiding between a few boxes of food rations (specifically tuna that they’d caught earlier that afternoon). She asked him what he was doing with a weary, confused expression lining her face.

 

“Oh, I like to say ‘hello’ to the fish down here. They get lonely when they get trapped between the crates.”

 

“Ah,” Erin nodded, as though his logic made sense, “Of course.”

 

She passed the flask to Beckman and rolled her eyes when he wasn’t looking. Sure, he was good to look at, but dear gods, the man was dim. He took a few moments to crack open the flask, considering he was tightening it further rather than loosening it, and Erin felt a part inside of her give up on trying to hold anything meaningful of a conversation. She chose, instead, to pry.

 

“So, Beckman, you must be pretty close with the captain?”

 

“Best friends since… uh… best friends!”

 

“Right.” Erin stifled a sigh, “So you know all about the magic that he does?”

 

“Sure do! Found me on a beach, washed up from my first attempt at pirating solo. Been working on the Hallowed Falcon ever since, and it’s been an easy job, boss. You’re one of my bosses, right? ‘Cap said I was supposed to do what the women told me, so I just figured you climbed above me in rank. But… uh… magic! Yeah, Crimson does some good stuff, patched me up quick when she found me.”

 

“She?”

 

Beckman stopped mid-sip, as though he’d already forgotten what the conversation had been about. Erin rolled her eyes again, not caring if he saw.

 

“You called the Captain a ‘she’,” Erin muttered, before lowering her voice. “Erm, Kevin, do you know about Jillian?”

 

“Oh, I thought everyone did?”

 

“No, she’s pretty insistent that I keep it a secret. Have… have you told anyone?”

 

He looked like a bit of a pup, with wide questioning eyes that were trying to figure out if the conversation was secretive or not. He took a third swig and Erin snatched the flask out of his hands before he could get too drunk to work that day.

 

“I can’t remember. All she told me to do was speak whenever her voice ran out. ‘S why I do most of the talking on raids. Magic happenings and the like. I’m pretty sure the other girl knew though.”

 

“What… what other girl?” Erin asked.

 

Beckman looked a little lost, so she repeated the question and waited for him to think about it. Then, he snapped his fingers.

 

“Her name was Elizabeth! From Kingston! Sailed with us for a year or two, always disappearing into the captain’s cabin for some reason. I think I remember Jillian telling me that she was going to marry Elizabeth, but then the girl ran back to England to marry some other lad. Broke me Captain’s heart.”

 

Erin could feel a throbbing in her chest, and she didn’t quite understand it. Deep down, she knew she was experiencing a hope.

 

“Jillian likes women?”

 

“And boats. And guns. And… big cats. Oh! I remember giving her some candies from a German frigate we raided, she really liked that!”

 

“Okay, okay,” Erin sighed. “What I mean is, Jillian prefers the company of women? In a bedroom? In bed? Oh, you know what I mean!”

 

“Yeah, boss. But I don’t know what Crimson prefers, I’d have to ask him.”

 

“They’re the same p― nevermind.”

 

Erin stood and faced the cabin, unsure of what to do. She walked towards the room, where she could see Crimson slowly setting the table for breakfast with her, Abigail, and Pat. He hadn’t seen her yet, and her hand rested on the doorknob with a tremble. The thought of kissing Jillian warmed something within her, yet stirred an anxiety in her heart. Her back faced the wall and she slid down, running her hands through her hair.

 

Perhaps Jillian liked women, but did she like Erin?

 

Fear of rejection swirled around, bringing up memories of parents scorning her and sending her to the church, or the neighboring children throwing mud in her hair. Of potential suitors blatantly walking past her when she went to parties with her parents as a teenager, the young boys not even casting a glance in her direction. Erin never wanted to face rejection again, the pain was too… too much.

 

The door opened, and Crimson met her with a smile so gentle and opening that she forgot those memories in an instant.

 

“‘Zere is some hot tea boiling just for you, my friend. Come on inside.”

 

Erin took the chance, and accepted his hand. He pulled her to her feet and led her into the cabin. The fear of rejection didn’t return, but Erin decided to wait. She would wait for a sign that Jillian wanted her back. She would watch and listen. Erin Gilbert was someone with a lot of patience.

 

And somewhere within her, she knew she would be rewarded for such a virtue. She could only hope that the reward would be Jillian.  

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, cranked that one out! I hope you enjoy this chapter, I tried (*Abby voice in the background says "Poorly!"*). Anyways, it's just good luck that Kevin hasn't told anyone else what he knows, I suspect Jillian would hex him if he did. And we'll see some more of Abs and Patty next chapter, don't worry!


	19. A Lack of Effort is a Weakness

 

 

The hook and bait sank into the water some ways away from the docks they had moored at. Erin’s toes swirled in the water as Pat fiddled a little with her fishing pole and sat beside her. 

 

“I’ll be surprised if I catch anything.”

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

“Might quit before it gets too hot.”

 

Erin shrugged, “I could get Kenneth to cast a spell to keep the docks cool?”

 

“Aye, anything for  _ ‘ze loveliest lady pirates in all ‘ze West Indies _ !” Abby imitated with a laugh. “ _ Only ‘ze finest for Madame Gilbert! _ ”

 

Erin laughed at the impression, Abigail mimicking the captain’s flamboyant accent and walk perfectly as she sauntered towards the pair. She let them have their teasing, as it hurt no one, and in exchange, she kept her friendships without having to spill any secrets. It felt like an exchange that could last for a while, if she was careful. Though… a small part of her was worried they would find out soon.

 

“Dammit,” Pat muttered, “I think the bait’s bad.”

 

“Want us to buy you something different?” Erin offered.

 

“Naw, just need to retie the worm to make it appear more… living. I’m sure there’s a spell for that too.”

 

“Woe be Pat Tolan, the sailor who has to do everything by hand when she could just cast magic left and right to solve her problems.”

 

“Teach a woman to fish, she eats for a day. Teach her magic boy to fish for her, she’s set for life,” the sailor countered.

 

Erin swatted Patty on the shoulder, murmuring something along the lines of “he’s not my boy!” before covering her eyes with a hand and peering out at the horizon. She could have sworn she saw something rather peculiar in the distance, and squinted even harder to concentrate.

 

Abby rolled her eyes, “Gilbert, if your face turns any redder from trying to transform your noggin into a spyglass, ‘Kenneth’ won’t be the only Doctor Crimson onboard.” 

 

Erin drew back, absentminded, “Sorry, was just trying to figure out what that was.”

 

Pat flicked the rod sharply and cast the line out again; this time with a smelly, green bait that Erin didn’t want to identify by any means. Probably some jungle bug. She grimaced at the thought. 

 

“Listen to this: war breaks out between Denmark, Norway, Saxony, Russia and the Swedish Empire. Can you imagine having to fight that many different people at once?” Abby asked, turning the page in her paper. 

 

“You know me, “ Erin huffed, “I can’t even stand it when  _ one  _ person doesn’t like me.”

 

“Don’t get into a lot of conflicts, do you?”

 

There it was again. Some strange shape in the distance that looked as though it were… writhing? Struggling? Was such a mass alive? Erin felt her pocket, but alas she’d left her spyglass aboard the Hallowed Falcon, and was left questioning the silhouette. Oh, how she wished in that moment that there were some magical spell that could magnify her eyesight to be like a hawk’s.

 

“... Erin? You alright in there?” Abby asked, playfully knocking on her head.

 

Erin swatted her friend’s hand away and got up without so much as an explanation, desperate to figure out what the shape was. She ran across the docks, weaving through the sailors and almost tripping over the cleats that kept smaller dinghies tied down. She brushed past Beckman and Crimson in a heated discussion about parrots and pulled Kenneth’s spyglass out of the pocket of his coat. 

 

She could feel something ache in her legs as they raced up the stairs to the stern. She extended the device and peered through it with a deep breath, letting the magnification confirm her fears.

 

“Kenneth! Tis the Kraken!”

 

Within a second, he was at her side, his hand on her shoulder as he gently took the spyglass from her and peered through it. Only took him a moment’s hesitation before he jumped down to the main deck and began ringing the bell; signalling to the sailors throughout town that they needed to return to the Hallowed Falcon. On the docks, Pat and Abigail dropped their fishing rods and ran, not even thinking to take the equipment with them as they, too, jumped aboard.

 

“Weigh anchor! We need to see what’s going on!” Doctor Crimson shouted.

 

“Are you sure that’s wise?”

 

He glanced at Erin for only a moment, his blue eyes bright with fear, “Of course not! But ‘ve need to see what that thing is capable of, and help the victims if we can!”

 

Erin’s mouth opened in protest, but no words came out. She blinked and shook her head, walking away to help the rest of the crew. The boat slowly pushed out of the harbor and she drew the spyglass once more as the sailors captured the afternoon wind in the sails and began picking up speed.

 

But it wasn’t the sight so much as the sound. A horrific roar, similar to the one she’d once dreamt about, and the sound of cannon fire. Cannon fire?

 

Erin watched a huge tentacle, larger than any ship mast, wrapped around the frigate and squeeze. She could hear the boat cracking under the pressure, and Kenneth made the judgement to command Pat to veer the boat starboard to keep away from the beast’s notice. Erin turned her attention to the source of the cannon fire and realized that a Man ‘o War was situated nearby, firing rounds after rounds at… not the Kraken but the ship in distress.

 

“My god, those pirates are helping ze beast?!” Doctor Crimson muttered.

 

Erin knew that ship. She… she had seen it in her dreams and when she glanced through the spyglass a final time… her fears were confirmed. The name on the side of the Man o’ War read Mercado. The ship, painted a haunting black and gold, rammed into the English frigate as another tentacle ripped the main mast off and flung it halfway across the bay.

 

The water rumbled as the beast roared underwater.

 

“We need to keep our distance!” Kenneth ordered, pointing out a narrow channel to Pat. “We sail through there and draw it away. It’ll take us more time to get to Tortuga, but we should be safe!”

 

“You’re just going to let the sailors on that frigate die?!” Erin asked.

 

He gave her a long, stern look.

 

“Erin. Look at that damn monster. If we so much as breathe in that direction, it’s going to know we’re here. Those men are dead. And we need to watch out for ourselves on this boat.”

 

“Growing up, did your mother never tell you to do the right thing?” Erin frowned. “Or did she raise a  _ coward  _ who runs at danger?”

 

Both Pat and Beckman were very quiet as they watched the argument. The helmswoman gave Erin a look that warned her she was pushing too far, and Beckman fidgeted as though he might need to restrain Crimson from doing something rash. The captain glanced behind Erin for a brief second, and then harshly turned her towards the giant they were fleeing.

 

She was forced to watch as the Kraken successfully split the English frigate in two, a limb raising into the air and smashing down on the boat a final time without hesitation. The beast then sank back into the ocean. Those who tried to swim away were shot by the musket men on the Mercado, the Man o’ War pulling up its sails and weighing anchor at the wreckage like a giant vulture. Erin closed her eyes, her shoulders slumping. While she knew that even if she wanted to help there was nothing she could do… she still felt anger.

 

“You may be someone I trust beyond comparison, but you would do well to remember whose boat this is. If you want to experience the same fate, sail your own damn boat into ‘ze locker, Gilbert.”

 

Hurt, betrayed that her best friend was refusing to even try, Erin decided to get the last word in, at a low mutter;

 

“A lack of effort is a weakness, Holtz.”

 

His eyes were cold, and completely unlike Jillian’s. He ordered Beckman to escort Erin back to her quarters but she retorted that she could show herself off the deck. 

 

Erin burst into the quarters and slammed the door behind her, kicking over a chair in anger. Why? Why wasn’t she allowed to be right this time?! Or ever for that matter?! The damn frigate hadn’t even put up a fight, it needed someone in that moment and Kenneth turned his back on…. argh!

 

For an hour, the room was quiet, yet filled with an anger none dared to challenge. She waited for Abby, Pat, or even Beckman to come and talk to her, but they were likely wary of her wrath, and let her stew in silence. Erin picked at the bedframe and let the gentle rock of Hallowed Falcon begin to slow her heart back to its healthy pace.

 

To put it simply, she was ready to go back up to the deck and apologize to her captain when the women’s dormitories were blown up.

 

 

 

 

Splinters dug into her, and she was struck by a wooden beam. The cannonball destroyed Pat’s bed and water began rushing in. Erin wasn’t sure what to do, other than push the beam off of her and run towards the deck, stopping only to grab her weapons and soaked jacket. Another shot struck the ship and nearly knocked her off the ladder as she tried to climb to the top. Erin would have fallen were it not for two fellow pirates catching her at the exact moment. They pulled her up and she made a beeline for the stern.

 

“What’s happening?!” she cried to Beckman.

 

Doctor Crimson beat him to it, snarling, “It looks like the French were hiding out of sight. More importantly, Admiral Heiss recognized our boat.”

 

“Heiss?!”

 

Kenneth glanced at her with energetic eyes, eyes that said  _ ‘we’ll talk about what happened later’, _ and she nodded, beginning to help the crew fight off the frigate and brigs swirling around their ship.

 

“Knowing him, he’ll want to board us! I… I need to surrender. It’s the only way to keep everyone alive!” her best friend muttered, his knuckles turning white from harshly gripping the railing as he tried to make a decision. 

 

Amidst the cannon fire, Erin heard a peculiar high pitched noise as an oddly shaped projectile shot through the air and struck the main mast. Two cannonballs fused by chain had ripped through the thick wooden log and had severed it in half. Crimson screamed at his crewmates to get out of the way as the mast began to fall; those who’d climbed the rigging during the battle weren’t so lucky. The thundering boom that the mast made as it collided with the water forced the air out of Erin’s lungs. The Hallowed Falcon was disabled, and Heiss’ ship drew close― the soldiers cheering for their victory.

 

“Do we wave a white flag, captain?” Pat asked, holding a hand to her arm to staunch a cut.

 

“No!” Erin hissed. “If they board our boat, we have a chance to fight them without doing any more damage via cannonfire!”

 

Crimson gave her a reluctant scowl, but he saw truth to her gamble. He whispered orders that Beckman quietly passed along; that they would allow Heiss to trespass into their territory before taking up arms and fighting him where they had the advantage. 

 

The man was every bit the pompous ass Crimson had described him as. The French soldiers lowered their ramp and he strode across like a peacock, not even bothering to drop his sword as the pirates of the Hallowed Falcon carefully put their weapons down where they could easily pick them up once the fighting was to resume. The French soldiers began restraining the pirates, and Erin couldn’t help but shiver at the nooses dangling from their belts. For some reason the soldiers walked past her, likely assuming that she was simply a cook on the ship, and she spat when one officer wasn’t looking.

 

“I ‘vas wondering when I would see you again, my great enemy!” Martin Heiss smiled. 

 

Kenneth frowned, “You’re a disgrace to ‘ze German people, you know that?”

 

“Why? Because I follow the law and rid the world of criminals like you? Or because I work with ‘ze French?”

 

“Because you’ll tear through towns of innocent people to find a single pirate. Do you think anyone in Nassau forgot the methods you used?”

 

“Please,” Heiss said, accepting a sword from one of his officers and resting it on Crimson’s shoulder. “That island of swine needs a proper purging. Something that only a civilized government can accomplished, be it French, Spanish, or English.”

 

“Well if you’re going to ‘purge’ us in the name of some sad philosophy, get it over with.”

 

Erin could almost hear Jillian in Crimson’s voice and smiled to herself. Heiss must’ve noticed her, because he slowly turned and parted the crowd of hostage pirates and smug soldiers to walk towards her.

 

“‘Vat is this? A woman aboard a boat? No wonder you have such rotten luck, ‘Doctor’. Tell me, Miss, does he let the crew have their way with you?”

 

“Certainly not,” Erin muttered through clenched teeth. “I engage in acts of piracy alongside them, and I’ll die doing so.”

 

“You? A female pirate?”

 

“Aye,” she smiled. “And I’m better at what I do than you and your men could ever be.”

 

**_SMACK!!_ **

 

The sting wasn’t as harsh initially. It was the few seconds after that burned her cheek the most. The blow caught her off balance and she fell down. Erin heard a cry in the distance and managed to see a shape rush forwards with a sword raised back, before blood hit the deck beneath her hands. She realized with a start that Crimson had stabbed Heiss through the arm, and that the fighting had resumed around her. 

 

“Come on, Erin! Get up, get up!” Abby hissed in her ear, as both her and Pat helped Erin to her feet.

 

Several shots rang out, and among them she noticed Crimson stagger a little as Erin attempted to shake off the disorientation and fight alongside her friends. 

 

Something had spurred their men into fighting more fiercely than she’d ever seen, defending Erin and Crimson’s honor with glee. Though some pirates fell, far more French were wounded or killed, and many pirates began taking the fight to Heiss’ ship. Erin regained her footing and pulled out her pistol, firing with deadly accuracy at the gunpowder barrels stored on the enemy ship. When enough space had been put between the Hallowed Falcon and the French, Beckman ordered them to fire, both at Heiss’ frigate and the two French brigs. They easily sunk all three, and Erin wondered if Crimson had cast some sort of spell to enhance their cannons when she glanced at her own hands glowing golden. And the words coming from her mouth… they were magic-speak, that much she could tell. But… spell was she casting? One of luck? It certainly felt that way...

 

Erin decided not to think about it. No matter how miraculous, she still had to fight.

 

Though the brigs were still functional, they ceased their fire when the main French frigate began sinking, the Hallowed Falcon lighting as much of it up as they could. Several crew members, Pat and Abigail among them, tossed Heiss overboard. Despite the severely wounded arm, he managed to swim to his sinking command and shouted obscenities at them. The crew, amidst cheering, began hoisting the sails of the foremast, a few crew members doing what they could to disconnect the main mast from the boat and lighten the dead weight.

 

They… well… Erin wouldn’t call it a victory, but they had made it.

 

Crimson slowly walked up beside her, and she waited for him to make comment, perhaps apologize for their earlier argument, but all she found was an eerie silence. Erin turned and let out a quiet gasp.

 

In front of all the crew, Crimson had a hand pressed to a giant red stain in his coat, growing darker and larger by the second. Worse still, he struggled to keep control of his magic, slowly fading from Kenneth to Jillian as she stumbled backwards and lost consciousness. A faint whimper of Erin’s name escaped her lips as Holtzmann collided with the deck.

 

“Jillian?! JILLIAN!!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this came out later than it was supposed to!!! this is one of my favorite chapters tho!!! don't hate me too much!!!
> 
> Leave comments?? Please??


	20. It was something meant to last hundreds of years.

 

 

  


 

Erin let out a whimper and rushed forwards, not providing a care to the world watching her as she pressed against the wound to staunch the blood. The crimson (irony aside) began staining the deck beneath the fainted lass, and eventually her desperate fingers as she bunched up Jillian’s shirt against the wound.

 

“Christ, Gilbert, no wonder you were reluctant to talk about Crimson,” Pat murmured. “He’s a sh—”

 

“HELP ME!” the former merchant wailed. “FOR GOD’S SAKE, DON’T JUST STAND THERE!”

 

Abigail was at her side within a flash, pulling back the jacket and shirt so that they could see the wound. The amount of blood made Erin want to vomit, but she merely took a deep breath and steeled herself.

 

“If there’s a clean rag aboard this damn ship, I need it now!” Abby commanded the crew. 

 

Several crewmembers scattered about, looking for medical supplies to aid the captain. Pat and Beckman moved Erin out of the way so that they could carry Jillian into her cabin, not caring if they were to rest a wounded woman on top of white sheets. Though her eyes were droop’d closed and her body slack, Holtzmann still let out a whimper of pain as they eased her head onto the pillow. 

 

Erin remembered a moment from her childhood when a hunter brought a deer to a butcher’s stall, but the poor thing was still alive and fighting for life. She remembered watching them take it away, the desperation in its eyes, and wanting to rush forth and cut it free. Now more than ever, that urge returnedー Erin wanted to let Jillian run free of these people and find a safer haven where she knew Holtzmann would feel safer.

 

“Easy, lass,” Abby sighed. “We’ll figure a solution for this.”

 

“None of us is a surgeon!” Erin worriedly pointed out. “What can we do?”

 

“There’s bound to be a doctor or two in Tortuga… if we can keep her from bleeding out, maybe she’ll live. But… Erin… the bullet’s done so much damage. That’s a shot meant to kill a grown man, not whoever this is.”

 

_ She has a name, and it makes a sound more beautiful than all the sunsets we’ll ever see _ , Erin wanted to say.. 

 

Erin felt something drip down her upper lip and tasted blood, bringing her hand to her nose and realizing that Admiral Heiss had hit her harder than she thought. Not that it mattered too much, but she didn’t want to bleed all over Jillian as they attempted to patch her up. 

 

The younger woman let out a scream that the former merchant would remember for years to come, her bright blue eyes opening and frantically searching around the room as Abby attempted to bandage the wound. Erin rushed to Jillian’s side and held her hand, a tear threatening to spill. 

 

For as long as she lived, she never wanted to hear this desperate whimper again. 

 

“Jillian, I’m right here. It’s okay, you’re going to be okay.”

 

Abby flashed her a solemn look, the brunette’s hands covered in a dark crimson as Pat brought a potion out of the cabinet marked  _ “four pain releaf” _ . Bless Jillian’s attempt to spell correctly, but at least it might stop the screaming, which broke the markswoman’s heart with every passing second. Pat tipped half of the vial’s contents into Jillian’s mouth as the girl’s grip on Erin’s hand tightened. 

 

_ You can’t die, please! _

 

Though the bandages weren’t stopping the blood fast enough, Jillian’s face visibly relaxed, and her eyes slowed their search of the cabin. She murmured something in German that sounded like a cry for help, but her voice quickly died. Of all the times for Holtzmann’s voice to fail, Erin couldn’t think of a better oneー for her friends needed to concentrate. 

 

Finally, the blood began to clot, and Abby could wrap a tight bandage around Holtzmann’s side, letting Pat take over as she went to wash her hands and take a deep breath. Erin followed her out of the cabin.

 

“Will she make it?”

 

She could tell that Abby considered lying for a moment, and then her best friend sighed and shook her head, “I don’t know. I’m no doctor. We’re probably doing more harm than good.”

 

“What about her cabinet of potions? There might be something in there?”

 

Abby rested a hand on the railing, and said, “You can try. Erin, I don’t want you to… if it gets worse, you shouldn’t have to watch that. I know how you feel about him.”

 

“Her. I mean, she’s okay with him when he looks like Crimson, but the girl in there is named Holtzmann. Jillian Holtzmann. And I don’t feel  _ that way _ about… I don’t know what I feel. I care for her dearly, and I will do anything to keep her alive. If it were more than a sisterly love… I would feel a bliss unimaginable.”

 

“I’ve seen stranger.”

 

Erin stood there with her mouth open, at a loss for words. She felt a little like a fish gasping for air, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

 

“Not our business to meddle, even if we’ve the best of intentions.”

 

“Are… are you angry?”

 

Abby smirked and pulled a pipe out of her jacket, “I’m… I am upset that you didn’t tell me… but this woman had a right to harbor a secret. And therefore you had an obligation to prevent a disclosure to your friends.”

 

Erin could feel a pain emitting from the one person who’d known her the longest. It’d always felt like their brains thought as one, but Abby now had to live with the concept that Erin gave her time and heart and soul to another. 

 

She wrapped her arms around Erin and let the taller woman fall into her. 

 

“You care for her.”

 

“She’s… she’s a lonely person. She hides herself away and when I accidentally learned who she was… it was like I’d discovered a whole other universe. She means everything to me, Abby… I can’t lose her.”

 

“Go be with her. I imagine she’s more scared than she’s ever been.”

 

Erin detangled from the hug and went to open the door, only to have it thrust into her face by Pat. She searched the other woman’s eyes and found only defeat, her heart suddenly clenching out of fear for the worst. Erin rushed past Pat and into the cabin, pushing Beckman aside as she kneeled at the bed. Jillian’s skin had turned pale, her breathing nonexistent. 

 

Erin desperately clutched Holtzmann’s hand and checked for a pulse under her neck..

 

“Jillian? Tell me you’re still there,” she whispered. Her hand tightened on the younger woman’s, desperately trying to keep it from going cold. 

 

What broke Erin’s heart the most was that Jillian’s eyes were open, but still. She never thought she could see those bright blue eyes turn so dim and lacking of energy. 

 

“You can’t die on me! You’re the captain! You’re my best friend!” Erin whimpered.

 

It became a process of  _ pleading _ ;

 

“We have so much we need to do. We need to see your mother! We need to stop the Kraken!”

 

“Jillian, I need to tell you so much!”

 

“I need to know more about you, I don’t feel like I know enough! I want to know what your favorite food is! I want to know if you want to explore any new parts of the world with me!” 

 

“I want to know what you feel like when you… when you touch me.”

 

Erin gently cupped Jillian’s cheek, and said in a soft voice, “I need to tell you how I feel about you… how I can’t live without you…” 

 

She kissed her. 

 

Uncaring of consequence, Erin pressed her lips against Jillian’s and poured her soul into it. She knew that Jillian wasn’t going to kiss back, that she was too far gone, but Erin wanted to declare her heart to this woman. It felt nothing like when she’d kissed Crimson; his lips rough and rugged. Jillian’s lips were soft and still warm, and Erin let out a whimper at the terrifying concept that this might be the one and only time. That Jillian would never know.

 

Erin Gilbert knew as she kissed her. She knew the God damn truth.

 

Jillian Holtzmann was dead. 

 

She knew it from the lack of pulse in her wrist, from the way her lips were turning cold no matter how much she wanted to kiss them warm. She knew it from the way Jillian didn’t kiss her back, didn’t breathe. Didn’t move. 

 

She knew it in her bones and wanted to scream.

 

Every second of the kiss slowed down to years, it felt like the universe was drawing out these last moments… or perhaps there was a purgatory between life and death and they were hanging in it for a brief snippet as Erin kissed her. 

 

She felt as though the second her lips left Jillian’s, everything would end.

 

Her fingers threaded through blonde hair― someone having possessed the good sense to undo the tangle that was Jillian’s hair after she’d been shot― and marveled at how soft it really was. 

 

She wanted more time to simply sit on the beach and run her fingers through Holtzmann’s hair while the sun lazily danced overhead. 

 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

 

It was supposed to be something beautiful and grand and like a dance that would last until their hair turned gray. 

 

It was something meant to last hundreds of years.

  
  
  


Finally.

 

  


 

 

Erin finally pulled back... and realized that Holtzmann’s eyes had closed. At some point they’d moved, meaning there must’ve been a hint of a fight left in her girl.

 

“Jillian? Are… can you hear me?”

 

A strained breath was let out, as Holtzmann struggled to cling to life amidst the bullet. Erin nearly let out a scream as she sat up and desperately searched for something, some medicine to keep her best friend alive.

 

Perhaps it was a trick of the light.

 

Perhaps the others couldn’t see it.

 

Perhaps Erin was in the right place at the right time. 

 

Holtzmann’s coat― still covered in blood on one side― had been tossed to the floor in the others’ panic to treat the wound. But Erin could see something glowing in the clean pocket, and quickly crawled towards it. She ignored the smell of blood and focused on what was in the pocket, pulling out the thin deck of cards. Jillian’s vichor.

 

They were humming in Erin’s hands, yearning to be used. 

 

She wasn’t sure what would happen, but Erin quickly rushed back to Holtzmann’s side, ripped the bandage off, and pressed the card against the bullet wound. Instantly, as the wound began glowing golden, the color returned to Jillian’s face and she let out a yelp of pain― her eyes still shut. Erin grabbed her best friend’s hands as Holtzmann’s grip grew stronger and stronger, and the former merchant pressed another card into the wound.

A mixture of magic-speak and English could be heard, and though Erin wasn’t sure what she was saying, she knew with utmost certainty that it was her speaking those words. 

 

“You can’t die, Jillian, I adore you far too much to let you go.”

 

Erin kissed her again, feeling a pulse in Jillian’s wrist slowly get stronger and stronger. 

 

She pulled away and watched Holtzmann’s eyes flutter open― her eyes having returned to their usual energetic blue. Though it left a horrid scar, the wound had sealed shut, and Erin realized with a start that she held a perfectly clean bullet in her hand. 

 

“Erin?”

 

Holtzmann’s voice came out in a weak croak, and Erin leaned towards her in earnest.

 

“Yeah?” 

 

“‘Ze horses are talking right now, can you hear them? They think ‘ze king’s taxes are too low!”

 

“W-what horses?”

 

Jillian’s eyes were so sincere, and it took everything Erin had to not laugh at the absurdness or cry at the fact that the woman she adored had risen from the dead.

 

“Haven’t you heard? We’re going to go watch a rowing race in London. Have you ever been, Erin? It’s a beautiful city, from what I’ve heard!”

 

She realized that the pain medication was still affecting Jillian, as the poor girl began talking in slurred speech about some princess that needed to be rescued from a giant harbor seal. Erin closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall of the cabin, taking a deep breath and letting it all hit her. 

 

Erin didn’t even care that Jillian had gone mad with the medicine, she needed to get it off her chest;

 

“You were dead there, for a moment.” 

 

Jillian’s eyes widened, “I’m dead?!”

 

“No, you  _ were _ . You’re alive now. I think. I hope,” Erin said, her brow furrowing. She rubbed her nose in confusion, “I don’t know what happened. I don’t know how magic works.”

 

“Magic?”

 

“Yeah… what you use to do… pretty much everything?”

 

Jillian’s eyes were wide in confusion, and for a moment she looked like a lost little child. She held on for a few more seconds before fainting again, and Erin brought her warm hand up to kiss Holtzmann’s knuckles. Erin let her eyes fall shut in thought and rested Jillian’s hand against her lips before gently setting the hand down and getting up from the bed.

 

“Sleep. It’s going to be okay.”

 

  


  
  


“Have you ever been in love, Pat?”

 

The helmswoman tilted the bottle to her lips and smiled, “A few times. My earliest love was the strongest. We grew up together on the docks and… we were practically married. I do not know if he’s still alive.”

 

Though a calm orange sunset blanketed the horizon of the ocean, Erin’s heart still felt like a drum on a viking warship. It beat with an erratic rhythm, pounding into her ribs and reminding her that both Jillian and herself were alive― no matter what battles they had faced.

 

“What do you mean, what happened to him?”

 

Pat took another drink, “He was recaptured.”

 

“Oh… um... are you―”

 

“Always been free, always will be. Pa made sure of that.”

 

For a moment, Erin wasn’t sure where to take the conversation. She let the alcohol carry her words for her after a few quiet sips.

 

“What does it mean to you, to be in love?”

 

Pat nearly laughed, “It means you finally reach a moment in your life where you don’t want to give up. Where you feel safe enough to know why you’re fighting the thing that’s oppressing you. I mean, really being in love is about making decisions that affect more than one person, and thinking them through because you want them to see more tomorrows than you. Wanting other people to do better so that they can be  _ happy  _ rather than successful, that’s being in love.”

 

“I take it you weren’t fond of Romeo and Juliet, then?”

 

“Bah, Mr. Shakespeare wrote a tale of lust rather than love. Love isn’t a force that leads us to blind, rash decisions. If you truly love a person, you won’t hurt innocent people to get closer to them. You may defend them, yes, but a proper adoration turns a need for war into a need for strategy. I know my Iliad, and how saying such things is a death sentence, but I’ll wager that love is what makes the goddess Athena more powerful than the god Ares.”

 

Erin chuckled a little at that, passing the bottle back to Pat and staring up at the stars. She could feel both a curiosity and a heavy knowledge radiating from the helmswoman. 

 

Pat was fully aware that Erin’s interest in their topic of conversation revolved around Jillian Holtzmann but she kept her mouth shut out of respect for the confusion and hesitancy stirring in Erin. 

 

She knew then and there that she loved Jillian. 

 

What she’d initially felt for Crimson was most certainly a lust at the exciting thought of courting a mythical pirate, but this was of a greater magnitude. Where he was an enticing danger that invited Erin to seek out action and adventure, Jillian was a woman who merely created adventure with a smile and a wink. Adventures that taught Erin more than she’d learned from an entire English education.

 

She was willing to die for Crimson, but she would  _ damn  _ herself to much worse for Jillian. 

 

And she knew that the Erin before meeting Holtzmann was ready to give up on the world, time and time again. But  _ this  _ soul, wiser and still learning, wanted possibility and chance and challenge and struggle― just so that she could say she did it all for Jillian. 

 

Erin just wasn’t brave enough to admit it aloud, much less to the woman her heart belonged to.

  
  


  


  
  


“She’s awake now, boss,” Beckman said, pushing through the cabin door and holding it open for no one in particular. 

 

Erin climbed the steps so that the poor quartermaster wasn’t letting too much humid air into the cool cabin, closing the door behind her and sitting on the edge of the bed. Holtzmann was sitting upright, wincing a little in pain, but otherwise looking healthy as a horse.

 

“You sober now?” she asked with a grin.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“You were off your rocker after I… after we got you healed up. What’s the last thing you remember?”

 

Jillian thought about it, her eyes scrunching up in confusion.

 

“Watching ‘zat bastard Heiss slap you. Everything after that was just a lot of pain.”

 

“So you don’t remember me k― you don’t remember how I healed you?”

 

“ _ Nein _ .”

 

Erin could feel a great disappointment, but a simultaneous hope. It meant that she could have a real first kiss with Jillian someday, when one of them wasn’t wounded and they were both happy and safe and free of worry. 

 

A kiss where the stars alligned, and perhaps an audience of millions because only such slendor could equate a fraction of the feelings within Erin. A kiss where fireworks imported from China caused the ground to erupt in an earthquake that might imitate the way Erin’s heart beat when she looked at Holtzmann. A kiss that would part the clouds and show golden heavens and new planets and burn the stars brighter than possible. A kiss where Holtzmann finally knew.

 

She smiled and stroked Jillian’s blonde hair, unashamed to finally show emotion after having nearly lost someone she loved.

 

“You were dead for a little bit. Actually dead. Then you were holding on by a thread and I put one of your vichor cards on the wound and it… it practically pulled the bullet out!”

 

“Can I see?”

 

She rolled her eyes; of course Jillian would want to see the bullet. No matter that she was legally dead for a stretch of time, tomboys always needed some proof of injury to show off to the world! 

 

Erin slapped the tiny piece of round shot into Holtzmann’s hands.

 

“Wow!” the captain admired. Then, she slowly shied away, “Does everyone know?”

 

“I’m… I’m sorry Jillian. When you fainted from the wound, your disguise dissipated. But no one is angry, if that makes you feel better?”

 

“They know me for a liar now.”

 

Erin grabbed Holtzmann’s hand and threaded their fingers together, “No one thinks that of you. They know that you have a right to your privacy and more importantly they know that you’re a damn good captain.”

 

Holtzmann traced the scar, and for a brief second Erin’s heart stopped as she felt a strong desire to trace it herself, core quivering with need. To kiss it better, and then kiss her way down Holtzmann’s stomach. 

 

To heal her through intimacy, as though she were the chosen one that brought Jillian back to life through love―

 

“You put a vichor piece on ‘ze wound? Erin… that’s brilliant!”

 

“Two. And it was a mad idea that happened to work. I… I think I can cast spells, Jillian. It’s happened a few times.”

 

“Magnificent!”

 

“Take this seriously!”

 

“Come on, now! There’s a great likelihood that my magic has rubbed off on you. Though, I’m surprised it’s occurred so quickly. I mean, it took until I ‘vas seven before I started showing signs of being magically inclined. ‘Zat must’ve been a relief to my mother. Yet…”

 

“What is it?”

 

Holtzmann’s eyes twinkled with curiosity, “I suspect I have no effect on your marksmanship abilities. ‘Zat is entirely on you. I wonder if you possessed some magical ability that needed to be awakened before you could… how do you say it…  _ wie sagst du das… _ initiate your power? No… that’s not right… ignite?”

 

“I think I know what you mean,” Erin smiled. “But you should get some rest. You can come up with theories tomorrow.”

 

Before she knew what she was doing, Erin had leaned forwards and pressed a kiss to Holtzmann’s forehead. Realizing that she couldn’t hide her love anymore, she closed her eyes and remained there for another second before pulling away with tears in her eyes.

 

“Hey. Hey, Erin. I’m okay… I’m so sorry for scaring you… I don’t mean to make ‘zis seem like a joke… you saved my life. I… I love you.”

 

“I love you, too,” Erin sniffled. 

 

_ More than you know.  _

 

“Stay with me?” Holtzmann asked, her eyes wide with desperation; as though she wanted to keep Erin from leaving.

 

How could she say  _ no _ ? 

 

What ocean out there harbored an Erin who could look into those eyes she loved so dearly and blatantly refuse? 

 

There was not an excuse that could mislead the German woman, nor an excuse that could emit from Erin’s lips and in turn convince the former merchant that it would be a better idea to forgo such intimacy. 

 

The stars themselves seemed to dissuade the entropy of the universe within Erin for one moment and give her the confidence to nod. 

 

And she was so pleased that she had agreed, for the smile that lit up Holtzmann’s face would stay etched in the back of Erin’s head for  _ centuries _ .

 

She put a bandage over Jillian’s scar just in case the wound reopened during the night, and had to stop herself from holding her hands on Jillian’s side for too long. Holtzmann sleepily watched her as she moved around the room with a certainty of stayingー both of their eyes drooping from the exhaustion of the day.

 

Erin realized that she hadn’t had sleep since the day before they’d spotted the Kraken and the Mercadoー it felt like years had passed since then, and she knew that the mere act of witnessing Jillian injured and fighting for her life had aged her. 

 

She would have to check for grey hairs soon enough, but her bones were fighting for the energy to stay standing upright, and Erin gave into their pleading. 

 

The bed was certainly big enough for both of them. Erin crawled under the covers that Jillian was laying on top of, their fingers still intertwined. Though moving was painful for her, Holtzmann wouldn’t give up until she’d managed to wiggle her way beneath the blanketsー neither of them saving a word as their limbs tangled together and Holtzmann pulled Erin close. 

 

The realization that she almost lost the woman she loved had kept hitting her in waves throughout the day but now it just sunk in the bottom of Erin’s stomach; and she pulled Jillian closer without any indication that this  _ wasn’t  _ an act of love. 

 

She was too tired to hide.

 

“It’s alright, Erin. I’m okay. We’re safe.”

 

Within minutes, she let her body succumb to a need for sleepー her nose buried in Jillian’s shirt and inhaling something that smelled like fire and storms and steel and  **_shelter_ ** .

  
  


  


  
  


She could have sworn that at some point during the night, she felt lips press against hers and a murmur of  _ “I ‘vish you would take my heart, and keep it from breaking” _ against her mouth. Though sleepy, she naturally kissed back, wanting more and moreー the dream-riddled portion of her brain whispered that it was a mere trick of her head, and Erin allowed herself to believe it as she returned to her slumber.

 

 

  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This. Is. Some. Quality. Gay.
> 
> Leave your comments, and thank you for your patience. Hats off for Rootproxy on this one!


	21. Muzzer Dearest

 

Things changed, in their own microscopic way.

 

Though it seemed to be some unspoken truce, Erin and Holtzmann began flirting with each other, very carefully.

 

Somehow, Erin wanted to pull Jillian aside and ask her if she was smiling and joking and leaving little touches on her arm… as a friend? She wasn’t quite sure what the captain’s motive was here, but it certainly drove Erin insane as she tried to figure out if Jillian reciprocated her feelings.

 

More than once it seemed that if she turned her head, their lips would touch. More than once it seemed like Jillian would finally, _finally_ make her move. How could she not know that she was a lighthouse to Erin, a beacon that destroyed all the bad memories and thoughts and feelings Erin had ever harbored.

 

They’d begun sharing the bed, with Erin waking up to see Jillian trembling from nightmares. It was a slow process to calm her down and a quick murmuring of one promise or another that lured Jillian back into a peaceful sleep.

 

_“It was the Heiss, Erin! His boat was destroying everything and I saw it almost kill y―”_

 

_“Jillian. You’re safe. We’re okay. He’s not a problem anymore. We’re alive… feel my hand? We’re alive and we’re okay.”_

 

_“Sorry… sorry for waking you…”_

 

_“It’s no bother. The last thing I would want is for you to suffer alone.”_

 

And reading. Erin loved listening to Jillian read aloud, no matter how slow or stumbling the girl went through per page. The patience rewarded her with energetic smiles and hugs of victory and _gratitude_ that Erin had been craving her whole life.

 

The dreams of Jillian still continued, and Erin had to pinch herself awake in order to not let them carry her away. She did feel a little guilt, and she certainly wasn’t going to act on them as she had― not with Holtzmann in the bed next to her! But, it was still a moment of euphoria to awake from such a vivid experience and see that face across from her. If only she had permission to touch it, to kiss Holtzmann once more.  

 

And there was the fact that, after the Heiss Incident, Jillian appeared in front of her crew as herself.

 

She was shy and looked to Erin for help throughout the ordeal of apologizing for lying, but none of the pirates really cared. They were used to women being aboard the ship because of Erin, Pat, and Abigail, and they knew that the Captain was a person of many secrets. When the stuttering sailor Garret made a quiet snip about how obvious it’d been, the rest of the pirates tossed him overboard (fishing him out after he’d had a good soaking).

 

They were loyal to their Captain, no matter what name that pirate went by.

 

“Let loose every sail, catch every scrap of wind!” Holtzmann yelled with a smile, as the crew scrambled to heed her orders.

 

She rested a hand carefully on Erin’s back, and the former merchant in turn threw her arm around Jillian’s shoulders.  

 

“It feels good to be me in front of these people… it feels long overdue.”

 

“Is this a permanent change?”

 

Jillian shrugged, “I don’t know. ‘Zere was never a lack of enjoyment when being Crimson, but this feels so new and unknown in its existence― living as Jillian, I mean― that I haven’t any desire to return to a man’s appearance for a while. I think I just want to explore being me, no matter who that person is, if ‘zat makes sense?”

 

“Of course. Holtzmann, whoever you are, Kenneth or Jillian, I respect you with all that I am.”

 

Erin rested her head against Jillian’s and closed her eyes.

 

The gentle rock of the boat mixed with the melody of various pieces of metal gently clinking against one another up in the rigging, and the gentle chirp of birds along the shore… it made for a song that dulled her to sleep― and she couldn’t help but lean part of her weight against Jillian.

 

“Don’t you fall to the grasp of Hypnos when we’re so close to Tortuga!” Jillian said, letting out a soft laughter.

 

Erin hummed and opened her eyes, “It’s this twilight fog. Beautiful, peaceful, and bringing an aura of safety. Or perhaps something else already did that for me.”

 

The former merchant pretended not to see Holtzmann blush as the pirate captain gently untangled herself from their embrace and pointed out the entrance to the cove to Pat. The helmswoman commanded the sails be pulled down and put away; the shallows demanding a careful hand to navigate the Hallowed Falcon without running the vessel aground. Once they were close enough, a few pirates helped Erin and Jillian into a rowboat and lowered it to the surface of the water. The wake of the Falcon jostled the tiny dinghy, but the cove was calm enough that they leveled out within seconds.

 

Jillian, ever the chivalrous one, offered to row― even though Erin was almost certain the captain could cast a spell that sped the boat away of its own accord.

 

A hush had fallen over the cove, with little lights twinkling here and there in the jungle. Erin didn’t want to ask what such anomalies were, lest the mystery be ruined, but suspected that Gorin had planted them there. They had too magical of an appearance to be something of natural origin.

 

Gorin herself didn’t live in Tortuga, of course, but some ways down the island so as not to raise suspicion. Erin could see why― for the woman lived in a large brick house covered in moss and far too crumbling to be held up by the best of engineering. If she opened up a tale of faeries, this house would most certainly be found within, perhaps where the evil monster dwelled. Not a scrap of light was found within, and Erin looked to Holtzmann as if to ask, _‘are you sure this is the place?’_

 

As if the woman she loved could read her mind, Jillian grinned and whispered, “It keeps the local sailors away from her practices. She’s a very private lady.”

 

“But you don’t have to worry about mobs in the West Indies? I mean, you practice in front of your pirates all the time!”

 

“Aye, but ‘ze French and Spanish quarrell for the land so often that she takes great care not to attract attention, the armies too busy swinging cutlasses at themselves to bother her. As far as pirates go, some are tolerant of magic, others terribly superstitious, but they use Tortuga as a place to hide loot and earnings more ‘zan a base of operations. Nevertheless, my mother is a big fan of caution.”

 

Erin jumped out of the boat when they reached the shore, uncaring of the water sloshing in her boots, and helped Holtzmann pull the dinghy high enough onto the sand that it wouldn’t be swept away by tide. Excited to see her mother again, Jillian grabbed Erin’s hand and tugged her towards the cottage.

 

“Since you are so magically inclined,” Holtzmann teased, “... would you like to do ‘ze honors?”

 

“What do I do?”

 

Jillian lifted the markswoman’s hand onto the rotted door that served as a poor excuse for an entrance. Erin grimaced at the feeling of soggy wood but took a deep breath and looked to Holtzmann for instructions.

 

“‘Zere is a hidden rune that only a wizard can find, opening this door. You try and look for it.”

 

Erin didn’t have much experience with magic other than a few mishaps that probably seemed elementary compared to what Holtzmann and Gorin could do. She removed her hand and merely scanned the door with her eyes, nitpicking over every detail―every crack and scratch and hole. The more she looked at it, the more she realized that there were hundreds of little carvings in the wood. All of them pictures, of course, since Gorin had lost the ability to read centuries ago, yet each of them having a specific meaning. Erin wasn’t sure which one to pick― and she was almost certain that Holtzmann wished for her to succeed on the first try, so she needed to take her time.

 

And yet Erin solved the riddle almost instantly, knowing the one symbol that Rebecca Gorin would prize above all else. It wasn’t carved onto the door, but Erin realized that it wouldn’t matter. She leaned close and whispered;

 

“Jillian.”

 

In the middle of the entrance, a rune began carving itself― burning into the wood. Holtzmann’s eyes went wide with both a wonder and a pride, and Erin couldn’t help but feel a warmth within herself for choosing correctly.

 

The rune took the shape of a little girl, and she heard a click emit from the doorknob beneath her fingers.

 

“You are something else, you know that?”

 

Erin didn’t say anything, as it was her turn to blush. Her hand remained on the doorknob, ready to open the door, but she felt a little rooted to the spot.

 

“What if your mother doesn’t like me?”

 

“Erin, the only people in the world who can’t have an adoration for you are complete and utter buffoons. Imbeciles. Heartless men and women who haven’t the brains to comprehend how amazing and smart and…”

 

Jillian trailed off and merely kissed Erin on the forehead, pulling away almost instantly and grabbing Erin’s shoulders.

 

“She’s going to love you. I promise. _Muzzer_ is… she doesn’t show her emotions as openly as most might, but if she truly didn’t approve of you, you’d already be back at the boat by now.”

 

“You mean she’s watching us?”

 

Jillian shrugged, “She has her way of knowing things. Divinations and ‘ze like.”

 

After a deep breath and a reassuring squeeze of Holtzmann’s hand on her shoulder, Erin turned the doorknob and pushed her way through the rotten entrance.

  


 

  


 

The inside was clean.

 

Perfectly clean.

 

Though it leaned more towards cottage than wizards tower, Erin wouldn’t rule out describing it as a tavern. It was rather obvious just from one glance that Gorin kept her magic in a separate place from her living quarters. Despite their location in the tropical Caribbean, the furniture was made out of a fine cedar that still smelled as fresh as the day the trees had been felled. A beautiful cast-iron chandelier hung from the ceiling with golden flames emitting from intricate candles― Erin had a suspicion that they never stopped burning.  

 

Holtzmann announced their presence in German, but all Erin could hear was a buzzing in her ears. She tried to point that out to her friend but all she got was a confused look from Jillian― until she caught on and hopped behind the kitchen counter, resurfacing a moment later with a mug of ale and a packet of powder. Erin watched as she dissolved the stuff into the ale and passed the mug to Erin, making a ‘drink’ gesture.

 

The second the liquid had passed her lips, she began understanding what Jillian was saying― though she wasn’t saying it in English.

 

_“It’s a spell ‘zat allows you to know whatever the native language is in ‘ze area… since this property belongs to my mother, the language is German, of course.”_

 

 _“And that powder allows me to speak and understand German?”_ Erin asked with excitement.

 

“ _Ja. Temporarily._ ”

 

The former merchant leaned against the counter and stared at the drink with wonder in her eyes, saying, _“Holtzmann, this is wonderful! Do you know how much knowledge could be exchanged with an invention like this? You’d never encounter a language barrier again! It’s astounding! It’s unfathomable! It’s―”_

 

 _“It’s the sort of thing best kept in ‘ze world of magic,”_ a voice called from the hallway. _“But you would have to be an experienced ‘vizard to know the laws that guide our folk and keep us hidden.”_

 

A woman entered, with dark, wild hair streaked with gray and white hairs. She dressed in clothes that were out of fashion and German in origin and walked with a strut in her step. Erin instantly felt threatened, as though she were in a predator’s domain without a weapon.

 

 

 

 

She looked to Jillian in fear, but her best friend was running towards Gorin with a laugh.

 

_“Muzzer, it’s been so long!”_

 

Gorin’s face softened, and she embraced her adoptive daughter with a wide smile, _“Ah, my Jillian. How have you― wait. You were injured recently, weren’t you?”_

 

Erin suspected that mothers knew these sorts of things whether they were magically inclined or not.

 

The witch lifted the tucked-in shirt and observed the recently sealed scar without a warning, an eyebrow raised and a scowl donning her lips. Holtzmann pulled her shirt away and smoothed it out with a roll of her eyes as her mother chided her;

 

_“‘Zis is reckless, Jillian. If you wanted to avoid such an ugly wound you should have used a Usait Spell.”_

 

Holtzmann rubbed the back of her neck in embarrassment, murmuring, _“Usait Spells are for men. But the healing was Erin’s doing, Muzzer, and she brought me back to life with quick thinking and a couple of Vichor pieces! I don’t mind having a scar, I really don’t.”_

 

_“You were dead? Jillian, you know my heart can’t take such tomfoolery.”_

 

 _“It’s true,”_ Erin nodded.

 

Gorin turned and regarded her with steely eyes, _“I see. And you are?”_

 

Jillian beat the former merchant to the punch, _“Ah, what foolishness of mine! Erin, this is my mother and mentor, Rebecca Gorin! Mother, this is Erin Gilbert and⏤”_

 

 _“And according to the stars, ‘ze two of you are courting,”_ the wizard finished, glancing down at a strange device (that Erin could have sworn wasn’t there moments before).

 

It took a moment for the words to sink in, with Holtzmann freezing up next to her. Erin was quick to figure out a response, not wanting to embarrass the pirate into lying to her mother and say that they _were_ , indeed, courting.

 

 _“No!”_ she blurted. _“I mean, I’m with the quartermaster, Beckman.”_

 

There was another long pause, and Erin could practically feel a sense of betrayal radiating from the woman she loved.

 

 _“Oh. ‘Vell. Back to consulting the stars on ‘zat one,”_ Jillian said, with an embarrassed smile.

 

What did she mean. Did… did Holtzmann reciprocate Erin’s affections? Her eyes met her best friend’s, and for a moment she both saw and felt a deep shame run through them both, and then Jillian mouthed _‘can we discuss this later?’_ as Gorin was distracted, working on her device.

 

_“Now. I can only assume you’re visiting on business, Jillian? Not to see your dear, two-hundred-and-fifty year-old mother.”_

 

_“Erm… it is nice to see you again, very nice! It’s been a long year since last we talked, and I want to hear about your adventures and discoveries and research... but we needed to consult you about the Kraken.”_

 

Gorin let out a loud, stubborn “hmph!”

 

_“... I’ll let you borrow Ozahn if you want?”_

 

 _“Wh-what does she need an ocelot for?”_ Erin asked, still unsure if she was welcome in the conversation, especially as Gorin kept shooting her looks of disapproval.

 

_“She does magical tests on all the flora and fauna in the Caribbean, but I haven’t let her use Ozahn because sometimes the tests don’t always… function?”_

 

Gorin waved her hand with indifference as she strode down the hallway, and Holtzmann gestured for them to follow.

 

_“I’ll be careful with him, I always liked that cat. What happened with ‘ze tortoise was because of faulty measurements. You’d think I’d get used to not being able to record my findings after two centuries, but no! It turns out experiments can’t be replicated twice if you do not have the results written down! Why couldn’t I have given up something more mundane, like ‘ze ability to cook?”_

 

 _“But you can carve runes and draw, correct?”_ Erin asked, a scientific mindset creeping into her thoughts.

 

_“Of course, but it’s about all I can do. I ought to hire an assistant, but there’s not a intelligent soul that can read or write for leagues. Perhaps I could search Kingston… this was easier in Europa, I had hordes of people willing to help me, though dear Machiavelli was always more poetic than scientific―”_

 

_“I’ve been teaching Jillian how to read and write!”_

 

Gorin paused with her hand on the door to her laboratory, and gave Erin a softer, more respecting glance, _“Have you now?”_

 

_“Yes, Muzzer! I’ve almost finished Don Quixote! I’ll need help learning German from another teacher, but I’m improving every day! I couldn’t do it without Erin!”_

 

They were rewarded with a smile, albeit small and hidden, from the witch as she pushed into the laboratory. Erin’s eyes widened and she struggled to keep her jaw from dropping. No matter how impressive the Kopernickan portal that led to the jungle or the fantastic potion cabinet filled to the brim at the Hallowed Falcon were, it could not compare to the splendor of Gorin’s study. Cages of beasts that’d yet to be discovered by the King’s scholars lined the stone walls, and more devices than Da Vinci could possibly have concocted scattered themselves among the floor. Runes covered the walls glowing colors that Erin had never seen before, each one emitting a different element.

 

The place was filled with sketchbooks, intricate designs perfected from decades of practice. Instead of describing the spell with words, Gorin drew images depicting what they were supposed to look like― perhaps more for her sake than for any outside viewers. Erin wondered if she was one of the first people to see this laboratory, even though Gorin had been in the Caribbean for quite some time.

 

Erin spotted a bed in the corner, and pondered just how often Gorin fell into it after long nights of research. She wondered if Jillian took up the same habits. A heavily locked cabinet had been pushed up into the corner of the study, with naught but a few intricately carved candles inside. Nearby was a box of matches, yet nowhere in the lab had places to put them, lit up instead with torches. Erin wondered if the candles were Gorin’s source of magic, her Vichor nearly at the end of its supply.

 

_“Now then, ‘ze Kraken, was it? I don’t have much information on it, but I could try to do some searching. Why are you trying to look into it?”_

 

_“We found one of your journals in the Hallowed Falcon… or at least, Holtzmann recognized your drawing skills.”_

 

Gorin paused. They could see her take a deep breath, and it felt as though the temperature in the room dropped and the tension only rose. The witch spun around and asked them to describe the little book they’d found, but fortunately Jillian had brought it with her― pulling the object out of the pocket of her coat. It was the same journal that they’d read through after the attack in Nassau.

 

Rebecca snatched it up, _“Let me see ‘zat! Oh my… this belonged to Rowan!”_

 

_“Who?”_

 

_“An apprentice of mine who escaped ‘ze witchhunt madness sweeping through Europe. He was from England, and trained with me twenty years before I came across Jillian. Following in my footsteps, he too became a magical pirate, and set his ambitions towards a Man ‘o War. The Mercury or what have you…”_

 

 _“The Mercado?”_ Erin asked.

 

Gorin nodded, _“Ja. After that, he proposed we use the Mercado and ‘ze Hallowed Falcon to find and capture the Kraken. I… I found something else to keep me occupied.”_

 

The witch glanced at Holtzmann for a brief moment before continuing.

 

 _“... we parted on poor terms but he gave me his word that he would leave me alone, which was more than enough for me. I should have dueled him when I had ‘ze chance. Something like the Kraken… I would have enjoyed seeking its power in my youth, but now I know that its_ **_curse_ ** _outweighs its benefits.”_

 

 _“‘Vat curse?”_ Jillian asked.

 

Gorin took a deep breath and shook her head, _“Listen, you must find the Lucayan treasure before Rowan North gets his hands on it. If he has control of the Kraken, and an infinite source of Vichor, civilization along every coast in the world will perish.”_

 

_“How are we supposed to find the Lucayan treasure map? We went to the French fort it was supposed to be located in, and found nothing!”_

 

_“I’m not sure… perhaps Rowan might have a copy? We were… we were going to seek ‘ze treasure together but couldn’t find ‘ze map. I imagine in his conquests to destroy boats in the Caribbean, he might have come across it.”_

 

 _“It would make sense. If nothing else, reconnaissance might lead us to more information on how he controls the creature, and it there’s a way to sever the connection between him and ‘ze beast,”_ Jillian shrugged. _“We could try and find his hideout.”_

 

Rebecca pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes and scrutinizing her adoptive daughter, _“I don’t approve of this. But I cannot stop you, never could.”_

 

_“Thank you, Muzzer. You can have Ozahn for as long as you like, but you can’t use ‘ze Erutnevda Charm on him, alright?”_

 

_“Bah! You’re too attached to that cat. A couple of spells or potions and I could make the perfect tool for detecting low level sources of magic! He would be able to see and smell apprentice candidates from countries away!”_

 

Jillian rolled her eyes and guided Erin out of the laboratory and into the kitchen. She passed a new mug into her hands and explained that Erin would go back to understanding English and only English. She sipped the mug too early, for Gorin pulled Holtzmann aside and whispered aught in her ear― Gorin’s eyes focused directly on Erin’s. It made her moderately uncomfortable, and she decided to wait outside the tower.

 

The jungle night was somehow less terrifying than Rebecca Gorin’s presence, even with the howling of beasts and the chirping of critters. She sat down on the porch steps, but her wait wasn’t terribly lengthy.

 

“All alone in ‘ze cold?” Jillian smiled, draping her coat over Erin’s shoulders. The rotten door closed behind them, and the rune gently began to erase itself.

 

“Not anymore, thank you. Aren’t you going to stay and talk with your mother? I can fetch a boat for you tomorrow?”

 

Jillian pulled Erin to her feet and smiled, sadly, “It is of no concern. Muzzer, despite what she may say, really isn’t one to stay and chat. She is a woman of schedule and brevity. I said my goodbye, and that we would meet up once more when ‘ze Kraken has been dealt with. For a woman her age, the days will pass in the blink of an eye.”

 

Erin wondered if that was all Gorin had said to Jillian, but didn’t push the topic. It was time to go.

  


 

 

 

  


The pair of women were silent as they pulled the rowboat out of the sand and tugged it into the water. Sloshing through the waves, they climbed in and began making their way back to the Hallowed Falcon in silence. It took until they were halfway to their home before the pressure building within Erin caused her to blurt aloud;

 

“Jillian. I’m sorry about the whole ‘we’re courting’ mishap. I didn’t think that―”

 

“No. Erin, she shouldn’t have assumed. I… well… what we have between us can easily be mistaken as courting, but to be between two women? As far as ‘Western Civilization’ is concerned, I don’t think it’s heard of outside the piracy in ‘ze Caribbean and… well… I didn’t mean for Muzzer to put us in such a situation.”

 

Erin felt her lungs constrict and jerked Holtzmann’s hands still, ceasing the rowing. They drifted with the current, loosing quite a bit of the distance they’d rowed, as Erin finally got the truth off her chest.

 

“Jillian, you mean the world to me. Whatever you want, courting or friendship, it is all I could ever dream of just to be by your side. I… I know that you were hurt once before… and I promise that I’d never do something like that to you. Or at least, I’ll never consciously attempt such a thing. What I feel for you― the **_devastation_ ** that I felt when you nearly died― it’s something that I both fear and find shelter in. I’m not _her_ , Jillian.”

 

She’d laid as much onto the table as she could, and watched Jillian open and close her mouth like a fish, unsure of how to respond. The pirate captain glanced down at their hands, intertwined and Erin felt a teardrop splash against her knuckles.

 

“I’m not a strong person, Erin. You deserve someone who has morales and someone who… who can accept what you have to offer instead of stealing it like I would.”

 

“Damn it, Jillian! I don’t care about what happened before I got to know you! You’re kind and curious and you learn about the world in such a beautiful way while teaching me so much… and… and you’re allowed to show emotion, don’t you realize that? Whether you see yourself as a man or a woman or both or neither, you are allowed to let your heart take the helm. That’s who I want to be to you. I don’t give a _fuck_ about what people think, what I have for you is far greater than anything they could accomplish!”

 

Instead of a proper kiss, Erin cupped the back of Holtzmann’s neck and pressed her forehead to the pirate’s brow. They both closed their eyes and Erin couldn’t feel the rest of the universe, so intertwined were their souls. She knew the moment wasn’t quite right, that it truly needed to be Jillian that decided when they were ready, but when her eyes opened she knew that Jillian had never looked more beautiful.

 

Then she brought her into an intimate embrace, burying her face in Holtzmann’s coat and pulling every stitch of the other woman to her. Though the rowboat made the embrace slightly uncomfortable, the pirate responded with equal adoration, her fingers woven through Erin’s hair.

 

“When you’re ready, I’m yours to _love_ , Jillian.”

 

“I… thank you, Erin. Thank you so much.”

 

Erin rowed the rest of the way back, with the woman she loved sitting in the back trying to comprehend the conversation. Holtzmann occasionally glanced up at her with a hopeful look in her eyes, only to see Erin smile widely at her. It was something else, after months of knowing a harsh Crimson and a reserved Holtzmann, to see this woman in front of her warm and emotional and calculating an outcome where she was allowed to be happy. She knew that Holtzmann needed more time, needed to heal from what had happened with her and her previous love, Elizabeth. But all Erin wanted to do was heal Holtzmann herself, declare her soul to this woman and sail with her… for… for the rest of their lives.

 

“I apologize for using Beckman’s name,” Erin smirked. “It was improvisational.”

 

“That was what caused me the most fear, really. ‘Ze man has a good heart but I think your hair would turn white just from spending a year with him.”

 

Erin and Holtzmann boarded the boat with their hyena laughter carrying across the cove, discussing of various scenarios with Beckman as a husband. Wordlessly, they fell into the cabin together, and Holtzmann pulled Erin into the bed without a second thought. Sleepily, Erin watched the Kopernickan portal open up into the laboratory with a hole just big enough for the Ozahn to slip through, and then shut. She smiled and threw an arm around Jillian’s torso as the world outside turned to midnight.

 

They were almost there, almost to the end of the _purgatorius_ stretch, and Erin knew ‘twould be worth the wait.

 

    

 

     

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Leave comments! Posted early to make up for the ridiculous tardiness of the past few months!
> 
> Like I already said, leave comments. I need them so much!


	22. Ghosting

 

Erin took a breath so deep she was worried she might cough up water from the humidity around her. Though they weren’t quite in the jungle, the atmosphere felt like it was pushing down on them. To say nothing of the heat.

 

“‘Ze spell requires a little bit of… what’s the word… what’s the word?! It’s one of ‘ze sciences where you mix things together and things go boom but _NOT_ alchemy or cooking… not the one about rocks but there are rocks in it… starts with a ‘k’ or ‘c’? What is ‘ze word? Alchemy… chemy… chem...”

 

“Chemistry?” Erin offered, grinning at her best friend.

 

Holtzmann snapped her fingers, “ _Ja_! Chemistry! We need to use gunpowder! Or rather, we need to mix our own gunpowder with a few real ingredients.”

 

“And how is this separate from alchemy?” Erin asked with a raised eyebrow.

 

Holtzmann walked towards the circle where they were planning to cast the spell, not even glancing back as she wagged her finger in the air, “Chemistry is intended for exploding! Alchemy is made for ingesting! We do not eat ‘zis! Sulfur, charcoal, and saltpeter!”

 

“And do you just have that on you?”

 

Jillian merely smiled and slung her knapsack around so that she might riffle through it, procuring those ingredients. Erin imagined that she had some sort of charm to keep the odor of the sulfur suppressed, and secretly thanked her best friend.

 

“Now… where should we… ah, here ‘ve are!”

 

“What are you doing?” Erin asked.

 

“Watch this. You place a Rune of Desire here. What it normally does is attract the thing that you want to you― sort of a nice beacon for when you lose your favorite book or whatnot in your house. The object will come flying towards the rune.”

 

“So the Kraken is just going to fly to us, is that it?”

 

“Shhh… now we add a combination of herbs― local and foreign― to make a Circle of Spell Reversing. What will happen to the Rune of Desire is that it shall show us what it is we are looking for, instead of bringing it to us it shall aid us in going to what we want.”

 

“What is it we want?”

 

Jillian snapped her fingers, “‘Ze location of Rowan’s base of operations. Perhaps we might sneak in and find clues to how he controls ‘ze Kraken!”

 

“So what’s the gunpowder for?”

 

“I just wanted to blow something up.”

 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Erin huffed, walking behind a boulder for protection. “Get on with it, then.”

 

Jillian picked up her spare supplies, her knapsack, and left a trail of gunpowder to the rock. She used her pistol to light the line, and Erin waited with her arms crossed― knowing that the explosion was coming didn’t help, the _boom_ still ringing her ears for a solid minute after it’d gone off. With a yelp of surprise, Jillian raced around the boulder.

 

“It worked! Oh, I love it when my spells work!”

 

“Don’t they always?”

 

Holtzmann waved her hand, “Besides ‘ze point. Come look!”

 

Erin skeptically made her way to Holtzmann’s side, smiling as she glanced down at the ground. Instead of a blast area, a hieroglyph had been engraved into the dirt― looking a bit like a map with a large “x” carved into a specific location. Erin quickly got to work, tracing the shape and making a note of where the spell had noted Rowan’s base.

 

“Do you think the Kraken lives there?”

 

“Probably not,” Jillian shrugged. “Something that size needs to have a lot of space. Probably can’t live in the shallows.”

 

“Well perhaps we might… sneak into his hideout and figure out what sort of spell or item he uses to summon ‘ze Kraken. We’d best head back, though,” Erin suggested.

 

She turned, folding the piece of paper and tucking it into her pocket. She’d have Abigail decipher where it was such an island took form, and hopefully they’d make it there within a few days. At the edge of the grove, Erin found herself halted by Jillian softly calling her name.

 

“What is it?”

 

“You ‘vere right.”

 

“Come again?”

 

“When we spotted ‘ze Kraken, before being attacked by Hiess and ‘ze French… you said, ‘A lack of effort is a weakness’. And I wasn’t strong enough to do what you suggested. I’m filled with sorrow at the knowledge that I can apologize to you, but I will never be able to apologize to ‘ze men who died because I was… a coward, like you said.”

 

“No… no, Holtz!” Erin rushed to Jillian, grabbing both her hands and forcing the pirate to look her in the eye. “Neither of us was right, and in that moment, neither of us was wrong. We both presented solutions to the problem in front of us, and the choice you made was based off of far more experience out on the sea than I have. The choice you made was based off of what would be best for your crew. The choice you made was based off the fact that we sail in your boat, that you have cared for and loved for years. Wanting to keep yourself safe isn’t cowardice, Jillian. I should never have called you that.”

 

Jillian had tears in her eyes, and Erin quickly swooped in with a hug, pulling her best friend close. Holtzmann’s fingers threaded through her hair, and for a moment they knew naught but a peace.

 

“If it is forgiveness you seek, I’m sure you’ll earn it by helping me take down Rowan. If it is a redemption needed, it will be found,” Erin whispered into Jillian’s neck.

 

“I love you.”

 

“I love you too, now let’s get back to the ship.”

  


  


A few days had passed, after Abigail had identified the spot as Puerto Grande using Holtzmann’s charts, and their voyage had been pleasantly uneventful. Holtzmann surprised them all by inviting Abigail and Pat to a dinner in her cabin, where she properly began establishing a friendship with the both of them as herself.

 

The weariness that the both of them had harbored towards Crimson melted away within moments of being in Jillian’s presence, and by the second round of drinks, all of them were laughing like a crowd at a comedy.

 

The peace was interrupted when Beckman made a passing comment about Erin kissing Holtzmann while she was injured:

 

“I didn’t know magic could involve kissing,” he pointed out, when Jillian had been talking about casting certain charms to make Abigail’s glasses never smudge.

 

“What on Earth are you talking about?” Holtz laughed.

 

The quartermaster’s eyes were wide with sincerity, “Well, when you were shot, Ms. Gilbert kissed you and you came back to life! I’d never seen a healing spell done that way, and I wanted to know if I’m supposed to kiss anyone who’s injured from now on?”

 

Both Jillian and Erin froze up, silent as the grave. Pat and Abigail sipped their glasses of wine with smirks, waiting for it all to come to a head.

 

“I was still in the room, for no one told me to go anywhere else,” Kevin further explained.

 

Holtzmann broke out into nervous laughter, glancing at Erin, “Well… I suppose that’s one way to do it. Though I would suspect ‘ze vichor helped out a great deal more. Not that I’m complaining!”

 

Erin felt horrified; for she’d wanted their first kiss to be something special and powerful when both of them were aware of the fact. And now that Holtzmann knew… oh, Erin didn’t want to put any pressure on her like this!! A patient light in the captain’s eyes told her a story of forgiveness, but Erin still felt guilt as she downed her glass of wine. Abigail came to their rescue and changed the subject, but the awkwardness hung in the air like a prisoner after an execution.

 

When they left for the night, Pat swooped Holtzmann up into a sisterly hug, followed by Abigail and Erin. Jillian sank into the contact without words.

 

The trust was beginning to build between the other women and their captain, Erin knew for sure.

 

And it was, judging by the brightness in Holtzmann’s eyes, the beginning of a healing for a woman who’d pretty much grown up without feminine influence other than her mother. After the other two had left for the night, while Erin laid in bed writing down an important note, Holtzmann sat in her chair and stared out the windows with a distant look in her eyes.

 

“I was prepared to live hundreds of years without companionship.”

 

Erin paused with her quill barely scratching against the parchment. She glanced up at the woman she loved and smiled softly, motioning with a nod of her head for Jillian to continue.

 

“Both in a romantic sense and platonic sense. My mother wasn’t one for relationships, but I grew up listening to sailors and pirates talk about their families, their loved ones. About doing all these adventures so that they could go home and give everything they had to people who cared for them. More than just in a family sense… I wanted to have enough riches to fill a palace, and I wanted to give it all to the person… to the woman I might marry.

 

“And then she left. She sailed to England with one of the officers of my ship and… and in my naivete, I thought that I wouldn’t feel this way again. I focused on the Lucayan treasure and became a hollow person. Not to say, of course, that I couldn’t be a good person until you and Abby and Pat came along, but… but I think I needed a pull away from the vortex that I’d spiraled into, and it would have been a long time until that had happened if it weren’t for your kindness. Thank you.”

 

Jillian smiled and stood, crossing over to her wardrobe and getting ready for bed. Erin took that as a sign that the conversation was over and quickly signed the paper she’d been working on, crawling out of the bed to go to the women’s dormitory― where she’d been hiding the letters.

  


  


And of course. Of course that was the moment that Pat would walk in, as she was shuffling the stack and sticking it under her mattress.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

Erin bristled with fear for half a second before giving into defeat. She pulled the papers out from under the mattress and turned to face her friend.

 

“I didn’t want… it’s stupid.”

 

“Tell me what’s going on, Erin, if you can.”

 

She sat down on the bunk, feeling odd because it’d been a few weeks since she’d last slept here. Pat joined her and Erin handed her the oldest document in the stack. Pat cleared her throat and read aloud;

  


_“Doctor Crimson,_

 

_With all due respect, Ms. Yates and I are seeking employment throughout the city of Nassau, and we would like to make an inquiry as to whether or not there is room available on your boat for two women skilled in mathematics, writing, cartography, and basic skills required to serve at sea. We understand that, given the history that the two of us share with you and your vessel, you may seem reluctant to―”_

  


The rest of the letter was scribbled out, the date at the top signalling that the letter had been written the day after they’d been released from Crimson’s domain. Pat glanced at Erin out of the corner of her eye before the younger woman handed her another letter.

  


_“Doctor Crimson,_

 

_I now know that you are not able to read these letters, which gives me a safe refuge to procure my thoughts. I want to ask you if you can teach me magic, but I worry that I do not have what it takes. I have thought long and hard about all of this mythology, and I want to try my hand at it someday. Perhaps, in time, I might try my hand at finally wooing you._

 

_It’s silly, isn’t it? A merchant tripping over her heels to court a pirate? I’ve never known a man like you before, and despite the harshness that you initially showed me and my associates, I find myself yearning for your affections. Until then, I suppose I am content enough showing you how to read, and in turn having you teach me the ways of piracy._

 

_Sincerely,_

_Erin Gilbert”_

  


Pat pulled another letter, while Erin sat there with her eyes cast to the ground. She was unsure if the anxiety swirling inside her was out of fear of Pat laughing at her, or forcing her to confront the mess that was her and Jillian’s relationship. Knowing Erin’s luck, this would lead to both.

  


_“Dearest Kenneth,_

 

_I’ve spent the past week raking my mind for reasons as to why you don’t love me back. The kiss we shared… what can I say but that there is no person in the world who will show me such passion? The way it felt, even if it was only for a moment, when you held me against you… the shame and grief I experienced upon learning that you could not and would not love me back._

 

_How could you push me away like that and then turn around to tell me your deepest secrets? That of your mother and your life story? No… I shouldn’t have written that. It is your right to love who you will and I’m just… Kenneth, I am angry at myself for not being good enough for you. I worry all too often that it is the curse etched into my back that wards me away from good fortunes― and yet sometimes I wonder if it is just how I am._

 

_No matter. I will stand with you, as always. Thank God you cannot read well enough to find this, how embarrassing would that be?_

 

_~~Love,~~ _

_Your friend,_

_Erin”_

  


“There’s far too many of these,” Erin sighed.

 

Pat smiled with a sisterly warmth, “May I keep reading them? I mean, I don’t have to if you’d rather I leave but―”

 

She wordlessly pushed another letter into her friend’s hand and stood to lean against the counter in their dormitory, close enough to the porthole that she might catch a fresh breath or two of air. Pat lit a pipe and continued reading;

  


_“_ ~~_Doctor Crimson,_~~

~~_Dear Kenneth,_ ~~

_Jillian,_

 

_I don’t know what to write. All of a sudden, a part of me has felt closed off, as though the drawbridge has been lifted and the traffic marching in and out of my heart has been forced to halt. I love you as Kenneth but… but what am I to do around Jillian? Who are you to me, and more importantly who am I to you? I understand now why you didn’t kiss me back― how silly that all must have seemed!_

 

_Yet I am drawn. If you will still consider me a friend, I want to be a person you never feel as though you have to hide from. Jillian, I want to go on all these adventures with you, and have them lacking of hesitancy. I’m not sure how to earn your trust without accidentally bumbling through your secrets like this, but if you want me to cease our friendship, I understand completely._

 

_With loyalty,_

_Erin”_

  


  


_“Dear Jillian,_

 

_I now know that I harbor the same feelings for you that I harbor towards your counterpart. Simply put, I feel as though I both don’t care that you are a woman and yet I care immensely. This is a part of me that I haven’t allowed existence within for decades now, and more than anything I wish to explore it._

 

_I find myself wanting naught more than to kiss you, and though the thought ought bring a fear to my lips, I can only find myself smiling. I am resorted to daydreaming, yet I feel a great patience building within me. Is that odd? To wonder if you might someday return my affections?_

_With care,_

_Erin”_

  


Pat smiled at this one and joined her at the table with one of the more recent letters, passing the ones she’d read to Erin. There were a few she’d skipped in the pile, most of them suggestions for improving the ship, inquiries about the current quest they were on, potion and spell ideas that Erin had came up with, and a few more letters, some of them unrelated to Erin’s declarations of love.

  


_“My dearest,_

 

_It is a love, isn’t it? That which I experienced when I saw you injured. That which I experienced when I realized you were dead. I am not so sure it is something that can be articulated. I faced both a fear of mortality in that moment and a fear that I wasn’t strong enough to save you. Thank God I found the vichor when I dead, lest I never see the color in your eyes again. I don’t think I could bear the pain of loneliness… not after having developed whatever connection it is we hold._

 

_I only wish we could have kissed under better circumstances― I only wished you could have kissed me back. But at least I now know that I cannot hold these feelings back, and I can only hope that you begin to return these affections._

 

_Please don’t be terribly oblivious about this, my love, for that is my occupation during our adventures._

 

_Your love,_

_Erin”_

  


“These are all very sweet. You have a few grammar errors in the more recent ones,” Pat smirked.

 

“She won’t notice. I mean, if she were to read them.”

 

The helmswoman took care to stretch, yawning, “She hasn’t yet?”

 

“No, of course not. These were meant to be a place I could… record my thoughts without having to confront Jillian.”

 

“I think you ought show her these.”

 

Erin’s eyes widened, “Are you serious?!”

 

“Certainly. What have you got to lose? The woman is equally in love with you!”

 

“They’re embarrassing!”

 

“What?” Pat asked. “The fact that you love both a man and a woman? The fact that they are the same person? The fact that the two of you are so timid around one another that you hide secrets like no man’s business? No secrets between the two of you, go on and read her those letters!”

 

Pat smacked Erin on the shoulder with the letters until she leaned away from the counter and snatched up the stack for herself. She took a deep breath, made a face at her friend, and marched up to the main deck and towards the captain’s cabin. Here went nothing.

  


  


“We need to be absolutely quiet. I know it seems like he’s not here, but he’s magically advanced enough that he could be hiding his ship nearby… or perhaps he commands the Kraken to stay near here… or _―_ ”

 

“Jillian, we’ll be careful,” Erin smiled, squeezing her hand.

 

Holtzmann took a deep breath and lifted the giant leaf as they got a good look at the hideout, a ruined fortress near Puerto Grande. It certainly seemed sinister enough to hide an evil wizard, and though Erin had never met the man, she had a feeling that he was the sort of person to leave skeletons hanging from the gallows as this fort had.

 

The Hallowed Falcon was anchored in the bay, patiently masquerading as a merchant’s vessel― though Holtzmann still worried that Rowan would attack it if he were here. The Mercado was not in sight, which meant that they would have enough time to sneak into the fortress, grab whatever evidence they could, and sneak out.  

 

Though the fortress was empty, it still gave Erin an eerie feeling.

 

“Let’s move quicker,” she nervously whispered.

 

The courtyard was barren as well, and the hallways lacking in lighting. Holtzmann lit a small ball of flame in her hand, and Erin tried to do the same― thinking the word “light” over and over in her head. A few sparks shot out of her fingers, but she supposed now wasn’t the time, and abandoned her effort. There was no real method of navigating the fort between the two of them, but if it was anything like the layout at Fort-du-France, Rowan likely used the commander's office as his laboratory.

 

They burst through a pair of heavy wooden doors to find just that, and what was worse was the sickly green and blue lighting that the place held.

 

A green and blue that Erin had not seen since… since her childhood.

 

“Awfully unorganized,” Holtzmann sighed, leafing through the piles on his workbenches.

 

“Takes one to know one.”

 

“ _Das verdiene ich_.”

 

She didn’t know what it was about this place, perhaps the magical contraptions that looked twisted and macabre― completely the opposite of Rebecca Gorin’s laboratory. Perhaps it was the way that, out of the corner of her eyes, she could swear she saw hands pushing up against the many mirrors in the lab. Perhaps it was the piles and piles of junk that covered the floor, pushing up into the corners and hiding under discarded clothes. Rowan was a slob of a man, and somehow Erin felt herself surprised― for she’d assumed that evil villains carried some sense of dignity about them.

 

She managed to find a journal, with various entries in it about summoning the Kraken, but the entries were decades old; likely from when Rowan had first sailed to the West Indies. There was mention of the Lucayans, the English, the French, and all manners of Pirating in the journal, but Erin focused on the beast.

 

_August the 1st, 1667_

_Success! The ritual is complete and I’ve managed to harness the beast for myself! At last, I’ll have my revenge upon this damned world! Ah, I do take pleasure in my split from Gorin, for I’d hate to have to share such a powerful treasure with someone so… limited by morality._

 

_I must keep this a secret for quite some time. If I built up a proper army using the technique that I’d learned in New Amsterdam, I should be able to create a proper counter to any resistance to my plans. That being said, the beast alone is enough to destroy a fleet should one choose to oppose me― but I need to make plans for inland domination._

 

“This man is terribly dramatic,” Erin sighed, after reading the entry.

 

“Hmm… at least he keeps her personal logs in one location… well… ‘zat is unexpected.”

 

“What?”

 

“His crew. I’ve heard of it being done with maybe one or two for servants around ‘ze house, but for a wizard to control an entire crew?”

 

“What are you talking about?” Erin asked, her eyebrow raised and her mouth twitching.

 

“Rowan uses ghosts as his crew.”

 

She could feel her jaw slowly dropping, her eyes glazing slightly over as the realization hit her― Jillian continuing to speak in the background, holding a wanted poster of the man’s face, as Erin glanced down at Rowan’s drawings. They… they were real?

 

“Jillian.”

 

“― and I think that he commands the Kraken to sink ships so that the sailors are left with unfinished business, then uses some sort of powerful enchantment to sway them over to his side and―”

 

“Jillian!”

 

“Yes?”

 

Erin felt at a loss for words, unsure of how to voice her fears and frustrations and memories. All of a sudden, it spilled out of her.

 

“Iwashauntedbyaghostasachildandnoonebelievedmeandshewastheonewhocursedme.”

 

“Erm… come again?”

 

She felt tears welling in her eyes, and Jillian dropped the poster to quickly grab her hands and comfort her. Erin kept her eyes to the ground as she spoke, her shoulders shaking and a sob threatening to replace her voice;

 

“ _‘Plentyn yn dwp.’_ I remember the b-brand burning into my back, laying there all day because the pain was too much to bear. T-This was after she’d spent the year standing at the foot of my bed― I’d mustered the courage and broke into her house to try and chase her off. I d-don’t know what I was thinking. I suppose she must’ve… must’ve been magically inclined because she whispered something under her breath, while hovering in the air, and the words appeared.

 

“When I managed to stumble back into my house, my parents berated me. M-My shirt was bloody but they couldn’t see the brand and no matter how much I-I wanted to tell them, the words could not come out of my mouth. A product of the curse, for when I told Abby years later, the only part she could hear was that I’d been haunted by a ghost, but not about the scar. No one could understand what’d happened and I guess I just eventually forced myself to believe… that ghosts weren’t real.”

 

Jillian’s eyes were wide and dark with an anger, though it wasn’t directed at Erin. She quickly pulled Erin into a hug and cradled the back of her head with her hand.

 

“I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry that you had to experience that, Erin. But that ghost is a whole ocean away, and I’m here beside you, and you’re going to be okay. I vow my life on that.”

 

Erin sniffled and wiped a tear away, “Thank you. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the kids in my neighborhood hadn’t started rumors about me talking to ghosts. Or my parents taking me to church and forcing me through years of harsh schooling just to ‘keep me quiet’.”

 

“Bah! They are no more your family 'zan washed up cargo!”

 

She didn’t hesitate, merely pulling back the hug and looking at Jillian with the biggest, saddest eyes and smiled, saying, “Well then it’s a good thing that you are my family, Jillian.”

 

The woman across from her seemed to soften, and change into a completely different person. At the pace of constellations slowly moving across the sky, Jillian leaned forwards, placing a kiss on her cheek.

 

 

 

 

Her lips stayed there for a few seconds before she gradually dragged her mouth half an inch and kissed her cheek again, closer to Erin’s lips.

 

And then another half an inch, to kiss the corner of Erin’s mouth.

 

And then, ever so slowly, Jillian’s breath _ghosting_ across her lips.

 

The older woman stood perfectly still, but her heart began racing, thumping, thrashing. Her breath trembled as Jillian pulled away enough for their eyes to meet before leaning forwards. Their lips brushed together, and Erin was about to lean completely into Jillian and sate the hunger that’d chased her for months...

 

The concept that everything was falling into place, that her life was finally complete, it filled her with a joy that caused her to let out a whimper right before the object of her affections **_paused_ **.

 

“Do you hear 'zat?” Jillian whispered, her breath mixing with Erin’s. “It sounds very high pitched, like a canonb―”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA... *takes a deep breath*... AAAAAAAAAAAAH HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
> 
> Sorry this one took a while to come out, but I am all too satisfied with the result. Leave me some comments, you queer lobsters!


	23. Shakespearean Confrontations

 

Unlike their usual pattern, it was Erin who threw herself on top of Holtzmann, desperate to keep her wound from reopening. 

 

Debris fell on top of her, but fortunately nothing too sharp nor heavy. The fort, though old, was meant for withstanding canonfire― but the instrumentation in the laboratory was not. Shards of glass fell into her hair and she hugged Jillian closer to herself as they waited for a break in the firing. When it came, she didn’t hesitate, pulling Holtzmann to her feet and tugging her through the hallways.

 

It was as though the owner of the cannons could see them, with the corridors behind them exploding as they ran. More than once, Erin thought she could see strange blue and green lighting out of the corner of her eyes, but when she turned her head as they ran, the lights disappeared. 

 

She wondered if ghosts had surrounded them, and began running faster.

 

“Wait! Erin, wait please!” Jillian whimpered, slumping against the courtyard wall.

 

In the distance, she could hear the Hallowed Falcon exchanging fire with the source of the attack, and they had a moment of breathing while their pursuer’s attention was occupied. 

 

Erin kneeled down to Jillian and held her hands in a soft, but firm grip.

 

Time stopped, and the force that’d been blooming in her heart― while they were in the laboratory― began to blossom again. 

 

She wondered if she looked as brave as Jillian did, the German woman’s eyes fiercely ready to face the source of the attacks.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Holtzmann smiled, wincing a little, “Ah… my wound… it still hurts to run.”

 

Erin let out a noise of frustration, aimed at herself for her shoddy work at healing Jillian.

 

“I’m sorry. We just have to run a little further, to our rowboat. Can you jog?”

 

“I-I think so,” Jillian said with a shaky breath. “I’m going to need to redo ze wound when we find our self in safety’s way once more.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be. I am alive enough to die again, this time with a smile on my face as I fight beside you.”

 

Erin smiled and nearly let out a chuckle as she leaned forwards and pressed a brief, hard kiss to Jillian’s lips. She felt a hand caress her cheek and closed her eyes. 

 

For a first…  _ conscious  _ kiss between them, the moment wasn’t right. 

 

It wasn’t romantic, and there wasn’t a proper build up, and they were in immense danger. With the chaos buzzing through her, she didn’t even have the concentration to determine what Jillian tasted like when she was awake and healthy and here. Erin pulled away just as quickly, a slight regret settling in her stomach, and helped the woman she loved to her feet. There would be time for them to… explore each other’s love… when they were  **_safe_ ** . 

 

She can see it in Holtzmann’s eyes that that wasn’t  **_it_ ** . It wasn’t their big grand moment in the sun or beneath the stars. 

 

And that was okay. 

 

They would have time, as long as they made it through this. The thought sent a shiver through Erin.

 

She pulled Jillian to her feet and clasped her hand, as though they were children. They darted their way through the fort, weaving this way and that as the canonfire resumed. Flecks of brick and stone flew into Erin’s eyes, but she merely wiped them clean with her sleeve as she ran, praying that her eyes wouldn’t be scratched up too terribly.

 

A small dirt path ran down to the beach, and they caught a moment’s peace as the canonfire remained focused on destroying the fort. Erin wondered if their attacker was deliberately attempting to destroy the fort more so than the intruders that Holtz and herself were.

 

Behold, the Mercado. It had situated itself at the mouth of the bay, preventing the Hallowed Falcon from escaping into more tactical territory, comfortably launching cannonballs at both the fort and their ship as Holtz’s pirates struggled to return fire. Erin guided her love to the rowboat they’d hidden and shoved the boat into the water without a moment’s hesitation.

 

“We need to stay hidden,” Erin grunted, through gritted teeth.

 

Swooping from behind, Holtzmann plucked a hair off of the former merchant’s head, then pulling a lone strand of blonde hair from herself. She whispered something and the two of them faded into… transluscence? She could still see the outline of Jillian, and that of the rowboat, but certainly a ship so far away would not be able to aim nd fire at them.

 

“We row as fast as we can… and then we sink ‘ze Mercado before it has the chance to summon ‘ze Kraken!”

 

“You’re certainly more optimistic about our chances than I am!”

 

Jillian used a spell to speed the rowboat along, and Erin winced when a stray cannonball splashed beside them; far enough away for them to avoid damage, but still close enough to cause her heart to stop for a moment. Her nails dug into the wooden railing of the rowboat as they neared the Falcon.

 

Whatever enchantment cloak’d them from Rowan’s eye, it must not have applied to the crew, as they hoisted down ropes to fetch them.

 

“Nevermind the dinghy! Get us closer to the boat! Until that damn beast shows up, we’ve a chance at incapacitating the Mercado!”

 

Pat practically pulled Erin onto the boat with one hand, handing her a rifle. Holtzmann was close behind, barking orders at the top of her lungs. The thrill of battle overwhelmed Erin for a moment, as she aimed at figures on the enemy boat she assumed to be the enemy. Despite her uncanny, almost superhuman ability to aim, the figures did not fall when she shot. Erin soon realized that her targets were ghosts, as Jillian had predicted, and made the decision to conserve her ammo. 

 

“Chain shot!”

 

“We’re out of chain shot, captain!”

 

“Dammit!” Jillian growled, taking the helm for herself. “Then we chase after him. I’m not letting the bastard escape from us and terrorize more of our allies!”

 

Erin slung the rifle over her shoulder and jogged to the stern as a cannonball ripped into their bow. The blast threw her to the deck and knocked the wind out of her, causing her to heave for breath for a few seconds before Abigail pulled her to her feet.

 

“What’s your girl thinking? If we chase him too far, he could summon the beast!”

 

The two ships traveled downwind for some ways, with Jillian ordering them to bring out the oars― more than a dozen meters long and causing the Hallowed Falcon to look like it belonged to vikings rather than pirates. It helped them catch up somewhat, and amidst the bombarding that they were giving the Mercado from their front-facing cannons, Erin thought she could see Rowan through the spyglass. At least, she figured the only corporeal, solid being on that boat  _ had  _ to be him. 

 

She wondered if he was working some sort of magic to avoid their cannonfire, presumably because the projectiles were large enough to see and hear coming. More than once, Crimson had done that very thing while they were fighting, and Erin knew that Rowan had far more experience and knowledge in magical combat. Still… Crimson hadn’t been able to stop a bullet, so there must have been a limit...

 

Erin had an idea.

 

A terrible idea.

 

But she was so overcome with adrenaline that she figured it’d work.

 

“Jillian… have them cease fire!”

 

“What?! And give him a window to return fire?!”

 

Erin pulled the gun off of her shoulders and raced down the stairs, “I have a trick up my sleeve!”

 

She passed her two best friends, who were quick to follow. Beckman had the gunners at the bow cease their assault as she climbed onto the railing, carefully crawling onto the bowsprit. Though the waves and cannonfire from the Mercado made it difficult for Erin to keep her balance, she kept low and positioned her rifle on the wood― laying flat on her stomach with her legs wrapped around the log. 

 

Erin rested the spyglass on top of the barrel of the gun, whispering something in magic-speak that she didn’t understand. It must’ve been something to keep the items from falling into the sea below, and she took the chance to peer through the lens.

 

She could see Rowan’s facial features. He was terribly ugly, not because of any natural physical traits but because she could see the hatred etched into his face. Unlike the usual attire found in the West Indies, he wore a heavy black fur coat that must’ve been enchanted so that he didn’t overheat. His hair was curly, but absolutely filthy. As his ghostly crew ran around him to tend to the ship, he stood perfectly still with a staff in one hand, and a spell ready in the other.

 

Erin let the rifle magically hone in on him, her hidden talent at work as she kept peering through the spyglass. It would only take one shot…

 

Just as she set her finger on the trigger, he looked at her.

 

They were still a few hundred feet from the Mercado, avoiding fire as everything hung on Erin, but somehow his dark eyes bored into hers.

 

As though he was challenging her to shoot.

 

She took a deep breath, filled with anxiety, and pulled the trigger. The markswoman didn’t even hear her own shot as she watched the bullet strike him in the left eye. He didn’t fall to the ground, merely staggering and letting out a howl that they could hear from the Hallowed Falcon. She could see his hands staining with red and shuddered, realizing that he was strong enough to withstand a bullet to the head. 

 

Erin glanced away from the spyglass to look back at Holtzmann, at the stern. Her captain gave a soft smile, as if to show pride in the shot, and then gripped the wheel harshly.

 

A rumble rippled through the ocean.

 

 

 

 

She quickly peered into the lens once more, only to realize that Rowan had somehow disappeared from the ship. He must’ve retreated into his cabin, and as the rumbling increased in volume and intensity from deep down in the ocean, Erin realized he could only be doing one thing.

 

“He’s summoning the Kraken!” Abigail yelped. 

 

“All hands to the cannons! We’ll shoot ‘ze tentacles off one by one if we have to! We’ll stuff it’s gut with shot!” 

 

The ghosts on the Mercado stood perfectly still while the growls of the Kraken grew in volume, and Erin wondered if they were interested in watching the fight instead of participating. She didn’t have time to think about them, dammit!

 

First thing she noticed? There was not a tree on this planet that had a trunk as wide as the limbs of the beast. One lone tentacle erupted from the waves, high into the air. Musket shot and cannonfire did nothing to waver the flesh as it towered over the boat. Erin could barely see the shape of the beast beneath the surface, realizing that the thing was as large as a castle. 

 

The limb slammed down onto the deck of the Hallowed Falcon, sending Erin flying upwards― she smacked against the jib and would caught her throat on the lines were it not for them snapping under the weight of the Kraken’s tentacle. Unfortunately, they pulled the sail down with them, and Erin found herself trapped underneath it as her face pressed into water.

 

Another pirate was trapped with her, and she used the knife at his belt to cut a hole in the sail for them to escape, pulling him to his feet and rushing out from under the cloth to survey the damage.

 

There was a large enough dent in the boat, but they wouldn’t have time to deal with sealing leaks down below as another two tentacles raised into the air and wrapped around the fore and main masts, with suction cups the size of boulders latching onto the wood like claws. Erin ran beneath them, headed towards the stern, as the limbs began to rip in opposite directions. The firing resumed, but it seemed to have little impact on the beast, as though the Kraken’s skin were made of stone. Some brave, foolish pirates even attempted to stab the beast with their swords. 

 

Crackling sounds of the Falcon beginning to die under the crushing, yet pulling grip filled Erin’s heart with dread. She rushed to Jillian’s side and gripped her shoulders.

 

“Are you alright?” she asked.

 

Splinters flew everywhere, and Jillian pulled the both of them behind the helm, having long abandoned it after the beast’s grip overpowered any amount of wind that could pull the boat. Her fingers threaded through Erin’s hair as they hid, and she leaned her forehead into her love’s shoulder.

 

“I’m fine… but we need to… we’re not going to survive this if we don’t…” Jillian stammered, breathless from fear and shock.

 

Erin could see the sorrow, the agony in Holtz’s eyes, and nodded. She stood and called out in her loudest voice;

 

“ABANDON SHIP!”

 

It wasn’t that the pirates wouldn’t fight to the last man for their captain, but there was nothing to be gained from attempting to fight the monstrosity. They dropped their weapons instantly and rushed to the lifeboats, dropping them into the water without hesitation and jumping into the water without a care. The beast was too preoccupied with destroying the boat to attack individuals, and pirates began swimming to the relative safety of the the boats.

 

That’s when the Mercado resumed its attack.

 

Ghostly musket fire and cannon balls began piercing the water and finding the crew members. Jillian summoned what counter attacks she could― namely a smokescreen to give her crew cover as she assisted every last man. Erin, Abigail, Pat, and Beckman readied the final rowboat as the Kraken began flinging their cannons into the air, taking its sweet time picking apart the boat as two limbs slowly wrapped around the hull of the Hallowed Falcon and began to squeeze like a python killing its prey.

 

“Jillian! We need to go! We’re the last ones on board!” Erin called.

 

Holtzmann looked lost. Reluctant. Scared. Angry. 

 

Choosing not to listen to Erin, the pirate captain readied a large handful of fire and pressed it against one of the tentacles, burning into the skin with a furious yell.

 

“Jillian!”

 

Erin wrapped her hands around Holtzmann’s waist and tugged her away.

 

“Let me die on my god-damn ship, woman!” Jillian snarled, attempting to burn the Kraken as Erin struggled to pull her towards the rowboat.

 

“We’re not leaving without you, and I’m not letting you make some stupid sacrifice for nothing! Come on, love!”

 

Jillian faltered, and Erin could feel the anger lower a notch as a tentacle ripped the boom off of the boat and thrust it into the water, causing a wave that capsized one of the lifeboats. The markswoman pulled the captain towards the last dinghy and let Abigail and Pat pull her in. Erin stabbed the mechanism connecting the boat to the Hallowed Falcon and they fell. The collision probably should have hurt more, but they were so focused with escaping that none of them faltered.

 

“We’re not gonna make it!” Abby whimpered.

 

Pat’s muscles strained as she rowed in sync with Kevin, and she grunted out, “We will, dammit! Holtzmann, can’t you use some of your magic to get everyone out safely?!”

 

Jillian’s eyes were distant, and Erin reached into her coat pocket to pull out the thin deck of cards, safely tied together and perfectly dry. She pressed them into her captain’s hands. 

 

“Jill… sweetie… you need to help me help everyone out there. Something to distract the beast so that your crew can escape… please…”

 

Her eyes were still distant, absent from this plane, but her fingers quickly worked to untie the string. Erin glanced over Holtzmann’s shoulder to see the hull of the Hallowed Falcon finally rip in half. As though they were magically connected, she could practically feel her love’s heart breaking as Jillian stood and thrust two of her cards into the air― shouting a word that was older than written history itself.

 

A whirlpool appeared at the base of the Falcon, and the clouds above both boats began to turn into a charcoal-ish grey. The wind picked up and whipped Erin’s hair into her face, stinging her cheeks with a cold bite that she hadn’t felt since she lived in Europe. Rain fell like bullets, and she felt Jillian lift her coat over their heads. 

 

The Kraken’s limbs dragged the Hallowed Falcon into the depths of the ocean as a rogue wave swept every lifeboat in a different direction. 

 

It would have been Shakespearean, if it weren’t for the fact that Jillian was wordlessly sobbing into Erin’s shoulder. People didn’t quietly cry in stories, and it seemed too real for the Englishwoman to handle. 

 

All of them held onto each other, with Beckman tying his wrist to the boat using a spare bit of rope. The last thing that Erin remembered before a powerful wave knocked her out was the night Crimson had told her his mother’s origin story―

 

About how Gorin had found an orphaned child in the storm she’d caused.     

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely not my favorite chapter, but you gotta get through it, you know? Like ripping off a band aid. 
> 
> Leave comments. I promise I'm still here.


	24. A Mysterious Correspondence

 

Erin awoke with sand in her mouth, and her body halfway in the water, with little waves lapping over her legs. She rolled on her side and coughed until she could properly breathe, leaning up enough to see where she could possibly be. The harsh sunlight dazed her for a few moments. Something poked into her side and she glanced down to realize, with great relief, that she still had her sword― the one that Holtzmann had purchased for her. Erin’s musket and pistol were gone, however, and she felt a slight sorrow at that.

 

Pat and Abigail were attempting to untie Beckman from the remainder of the lifeboat― which wasn’t saying much. Pat had a nasty scratch running down her calf and Abby’s cheek had a bruise that would last for many weeks… but they took their wounds in stride as they helped the lovable quartermaster, who was simply rambling on and on about the giant crab that had attacked them (“No, no! It was a Kraken― you know what? Nevermind!”)

 

The memory of the beast flooded her mind, and she took a jarring breath as she relived the destruction of what’d essentially become her home. For a brief second, denial entered the back of her head; she allowed herself to believe that the Hallowed Falcon could still be alive. The sky was a peaceful blue, and in exhaustion she laid down on her back and stared at it for a few seconds, trying to remember the harsh darkness of the storm that Jillian had cast.

 

Jillian!

 

Erin scrambled to her feet and searched along the beach. Further down, she could see a figure… just sitting there in the sand. Though she couldn’t be certain, Erin didn’t see any visible injuries on Holtzmann, and she gently walked towards the woman she loved with a hesitancy in her step.

 

The… well… the former captain didn’t acknowledge her. Erin nestled herself in the sand beside Jillian and took her hand, with the touch of a feather and the patience of a loyal friend.

 

All was silent, even as the minutes ticked by. Jillian’s hand in hers twitched, as though the German woman was going to say something, and then she would resume her statue stillness. Erin allowed it, for she couldn’t even begin to imagine what kind of trauma was carving itself into Holtzmann.

 

She did the only thing she could think of that wouldn’t drag Holtzmann further down into this melancholy.

 

“Thank you for saving our lives.”

 

The other woman remained silent, and Erin listened to the wind rustling the leaves of the palms overhead. She supposed that, until they found a way off the island, she ought become accustomed to the noise.

 

It was peaceful here. Tantalizingly so, after what they had experienced.

 

“I’m going to go help Abby and Pat. I’ll come check on you later, okay?” she whispered.

 

Jillian didn’t respond, and it sunk Erin’s heart further into the pit that’d been forming. She gently raised the younger woman’s hands to her lips and kissed Holtzmann’s knuckles, a small sigh escaping from her nose.

 

It felt like she were walking through sludge, making her way back towards her friends― the sand rising past her ankles with every step. All of her felt filthy, with her soggy clothes becoming hot and sweaty under the Caribbean sun.

 

“Well… the good news is that no one is seriously injured,” Abby sighed, attempting to undo her ponytail. “Kevin and Pat have gone into the forest to see if there’s any fresh water. Why don’t you poke through some of the washed up crates and try to salvage supplies?”

 

“Do you know where we are?”

 

Her best friend shook her head, “Not a clue. Can’t see another island for miles, and not a single ship has passed by, so I doubt we’re near a trade route.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Abby smiled to keep spirits up, but Erin could see the strain in her eyes. The reluctance to admit that they would be dead within a few months if no one spotted them.

 

_At least we’re not in the belly of the beast, or sinking to the bottom of the ocean. There are worse deaths than starving on a tropical beach._

 

“I’ll get to work making us some shade. How’s Holtzmann holding up?”

 

Erin let out a frustrated sigh, “I don’t know. Every time I think I have that woman figured out, she slips away from my grasp, but this time the damage seems permanent. She’s pretty upset by what happened.”  

 

“Leave her be, I suppose. What happened wasn’t her fault, and I’m sure that the rest of the crew ended up in relatively safe locations like we did. We… we can hold a funeral, perhaps? Or make a memorial?”

 

“Maybe. Maybe when she’s feeling like talking…”

 

Erin turned and began her trek down the beach, scooping up bottles only to find them full of sand and sea water. One or two scraps of cloth reminded her of the way the Kraken had trapped her under the jib, and she had to stop and take a breath more than once. Perhaps a quick and painless death would have been better than this desperation.

 

_No, you have to stop thinking like that. Jillian’s here, and she’s safe. You’ll be fine._

 

Though she was quite some ways from the area where her friends had washed up, Erin could see the beginnings of a lean to, forged by Abby. And she could still see Jillian sitting in the sand from where she stood, unresponsive to every stimulation. She looked so small, both physically and emotionally― all Erin wanted to do was scoop her into a hug and hold her. There would be time for that later, but Abigail’s request could not wait.

 

The lightweight flotsam that’d survived was mostly boards from the ship’s hull, along with personal items belonging to pirates. Erin kicked over a piece of parchment, realizing that it was the map Holtzmann kept spread on the table in her cabin. All of their adventures, tarnished within a single day by the beast that could not be slain.

 

Thank God there were no bodies. Erin couldn’t bear to see the faces of pirates she’d been living with and fighting alongside, facedown in the sand and one to the world. She shuddered to think of the men who had undoubtedly perished now forced to serve under Rowan.

 

Curse him, and curse whoever allowed him to have such power.

 

It was around the south side of the island (or at least what Erin assumed was the south, judging by the sun) that she encountered a piece of cargo that did not belong to the Hallowed Falcon. And she assumed that it did not belong to the Mercado, either― for they had not experienced enough damage for such cargo to fall overboard.

 

Erin knelt down in the sand, and stared at the strange trunk. It was small enough to fit in her lap, and she began digging to unearth the edges and pull the luggage out.

 

The name on the box read Aldridge.

  


  


When Erin had finally dug the box out (which seemed to take ages, as though the sand had turned to stone the moment she attempted her excavation), she carried it away from the shore and sat under the palm trees to open it.

 

The lock practically crumbled away in her hand, though the metal looked new and shiny rather than rusted and tarnished. Erin opened the box very carefully, worried of what might be found inside.

 

A note, atop an object. She chose to read first, and discover later.

  


_Most unfortunate, Miss Gilbert, that you’ve found yourself in this situation. Thousands of miles from that which you originated, and yet what has been destroyed but the only place you could call home? Starving… dehydrated… it is a shame to find yourself in this situation._

 

Erin glanced around, wondering if the owner of the note was watching them. When she looked down, she nearly yelped in surprise;

 

_We are always watching, ye of magic inclination. We watched the dreaded devil sink your ship without remorse. We watched you fall in love with a treasure out of reach, when the treasure itself was in love with power. We watched you change them. We watched them change you. We watched you nobally take on a great danger, and we watched the Kraken crush you and your ilk._

 

_Rowan has something of ours. Something he hoards with pride and greed. Be not afraid, we do not seek the Kraken’s power, but the one other treasure he possesses. When we meet again, I personally will explain. In the meantime, I’d like to gift you with… a family heirloom._

 

_Remember this well; one bullet can wound a god, one bullet can shake the Earth, and one bullet can unleash the seas. Only ever the three can this pistol carry._

 

_Sincerely, and good luck,_

_\- G. Aldridge_

  


Erin folded the letter and tucked it in her pocket, unsure of what to think. Some force, some magical force, was watching her and her friends. And it was, for now, on her side.

 

 

The pistol, hidden beneath a white cloth, was absolutely beautiful. Gold leaf patterns wrapped around the barrel and mixed with silver letters, written in an alphabet Erin had never seen before yet could still read. The words repeated what had been said in the letter; about wounding the god, shaking the Earth, and unleashing the seas. Within the case were the three bullets, equally identical. She stuffed the letter back inside and closed the box and took it with her, returning to her friends.

 

“My life simply becomes stranger and stranger with each passing day,” she murmured to herself. “But if these are the forces at work, providing us aid, perhaps I’ll survive to see this pistol in use.”

 

Erin couldn’t imagine herself using the pistol on a God― why, she wasn’t even religious! And why in the world would she need to “shake the Earth” or “unleash the Seas”?!? Why couldn’t the author of the letter provide her with some food and water to give to her friends?

 

There weren’t even enough bullets to go around, should the situation become desperate enough. That part worried Erin a little, but she figured as long as they were together, such desperations would stear clear.

 

“Hoy there! What did you come across?” Abby asked with a smile.

 

“A pistol, and a letter written to us as well. Read this,” Erin said, providing her with the Aldridge box.

 

“Must curious, and it’s perfectly dry as well― Erin, this is a blank piece of paper! Are you sure you weren’t seeing things?”

 

“What?! No! It had… it had words on it… it was written to me…”

 

Erin took the letter out of her hands, to find that the page was, indeed, void of correspondence. As though the ink had soaked itself up off the paper and floated away. Had she imagined it? Perhaps the stress of the previous day’s events had been too much....

 

Jillian was beside her, silently, and she gently pulled the letter out of Erin’s hands. She gave it a good long look, and judging from the movement of her eyes she was slowly reading it.

 

“A family ‘eirloom? Strange.”

 

It was the first Erin had heard the woman she loved speak, and she winced at the scratchiness of Holtzmann’s voice. The former captain passed the paper back to Erin, and her breath caught when their fingers touched. Though they were in front of their friends, she wanted more than anything to wrap her arms around Jillian and use her lips to seal the wounds that were invisible to anyone but Erin.

 

She settled for a hand on Jillian’s arm, and sympathetic eyes that were avoided by mourning ones.

 

“We found water!”

 

Pat’s voice carried down from the forest, and all of them turned to see the helmswoman and Kevin carrying a few salvaged buckets with relatively clean water. Abby let out a sigh of relief.

 

“So long as we carefully ration this, we can survive long enough for a passing merchant’s vessel to ferry us to civilization. There’s a small amount of food, it might’ve come from the captain’s cabin― it was magically preserved.”

 

“Smart thinking,” Erin smiled at Holtzmann, who didn’t respond.

 

“We can use that pistol for hunting, too.”

 

“Oh… well… no. The letter said it had three specific uses. I don’t think we can waste the shots like that.”

 

Abigail rolled her eyes, “Fine. Maybe you and Holtzmann can rig us up some magical traps while we go gathering?”

 

“We’ll… I’ll see what I can do.”

 

Erin hated seeing the frustration on Abby’s face, and she walked forward, giving her friend a reassuring hug. The annoyance melted away and her childhood friend’s arms wrapped around her briefly before letting her go to continue working on the shelter. Erin gently took Holtzmann’s hand, and they silently set off down the other side of the beach to look for more supplies.

 

Ten minutes later, Holtzmann’s hand squeezed back, and she knew that it would be okay.

 

These things took time.

  


 

 

Unfortunately, they had too much time.

 

A whole month had passed on the island, and between five people, the food was low. Not a single ship had floated by, and they were all losing hope, ever so slowly.

 

Tonight was particularly hot, and the jungle bugs chirping didn’t make things any better. Erin squirmed in Holtzmann’s arms as she tried to give herself enough space to cool down without leaving the embrace that kept her sanity stable.

 

Despite the heat, she did enjoy Holtzmann’s breath at her neck, and she smiled a little when Holtzmann’s fingers wandered beneath her shirt, even though the other woman was fast asleep. Erin decided to brace the heat and rolled over, kissing Jillian’s jaw as she nestled her forehead into the younger woman’s shoulder.

 

They hadn’t kissed, nor done anything intimate beyond falling asleep together since the “Rowan Incident”, as Pat called it. Erin wanted more than anything to pull Jillian to a secluded location and make love to her… to kiss her and gently pull her clothes off and make her forget about everything happening and everything that had happened… but Holtzmann was still brokenhearted from the loss of the Hallowed Falcon.

 

She was saying more and more each day, and joining in with the group conversations, but a cloud of guilt continued to hang over her. Erin didn’t know how to make her feel better, but she didn’t think that physical affection would really do the trick.

 

Holtzmann needed some action to snap her out of this funk… she needed to let out steam and release her anger…

 

She needed to know that she was **_allowed_ ** to be angry.

 

“Someone! Wake up!”

 

Pat was on night watch, to try and spot ships, and she ran into the shelter to shake Abby awake. Erin sat up, untangling herself from Holtzmann’s arms (who let out a sleepy groan).

 

“There’s a ship passing, half a league from the northern point of the island! Maybe we can signal it!”

 

All of them scrambled to their feet, helping each other up and rushing out of the palm leaf shelter so quickly that Erin worried it might collapse. Jillian’s hand clasped around her wrist as they ran to the shore.

 

Abby let out a whoop, instantly grateful despite the fact that the boat had yet to see them.

 

“What should we do? If we light a fire and they think it’s just a natural occurrence, they might continue on their way,” Pat pointed out.

 

“Too bad you can’t make rainbow fires,” Beckman sleepily grumbled. “If I was steering a ship, I’d rescue whoever had the prettiest smoke signals.”

 

All of them glanced at each other, registering that the quartermaster had said something rather useful (for once). Jillian wordlessly got to work, rooting through their supplies and pulling out rocks and powders Erin hadn’t even realized had survived.

 

“We need to go to the northern point and make a bonfire. Throw together as much foliage as you can. Hell, if you can find a fallen tree, bring it over and we’ll make short work of it. We need to get a bonfire going before they get too far to spot it!”

 

Despite having woken up moments before, all of them ran like a pack of wolves down the beach. Erin could just barely make out the ship in the darkness, with clean white sails standing out against the black horizon.

 

They got the fire going rather quickly, thanks to the torch that Pat brought with her. It was when Holtzmann threw her mixture into the fire that all of them were truly impressed, for it began to shine and flash as though they were setting off fireworks.

 

Erin slipped her hand into Jillian’s while they waited, the flashes of the bonfire forcing her to squint in the darkness.

 

Their wait was worth it, it seemed, for within a few minutes it seemed that the ship began to turn.

 

“I can’t believe it! I think we did it!” Abby sighed in relief.

 

“Does that ship look familiar to you?” Erin muttered, rubbing her eyes and stepping away from the fire.

 

“No, it looks like every merchant’s vessel in the Caribbean. Just a simple brig! Why?”

 

“I can’t help but think that… I don’t know,” Erin shrugged. “I think that’s a ship we’ve done business with, but I can’t say for certain.”

 

All of them waited, painfully patiently, until the ship was close enough. When Kevin spotted a rowboat begin to make its way towards them, they let out whoops of joy― excited to be rid of the island and in the hands of civilization. Even pirates holding them hostage would be better than one more day in solitude.

 

Indeed, regular sailors pulled up to the beach and offered them canteens of water, which they all gratefully accepted.

 

“Thank you so much,” Erin whimpered, closing her eyes and taking a long drink.

 

The sailor in charge gave an understanding smile, “Of course! What happened, were you shipwrecked?”

 

The group silently made eye contact with one another before Jillian quietly answered, “Pirates.”

 

“Ah! Well, you have naught to worry about lad and lasses! We’ll make sure you’re safe aboard the Columbia!”

 

Erin nearly choked on her drink, wiping her mouth and giving the sailor a queer look.

 

“That wouldn’t… happen to be the ship owned by mister Harold Filmore, would it?”

 

The sailor nodded, falsely assuming that they were merchants as well, “Aye, he’s making his way towards Kingston, and I’m sure he’d be happy to accommodate you all aboard his ship!”

 

Erin felt bad when the plan formed in her mind, but only for a second. Filmore was the one who had gotten her into all this mess, and by extension had sunken the Aphrodite. A sly smirk planted itself on her lips and she gave her friends a wink before drawing her sword and pointing it at the instantly frightened sailor.

 

Like a true pirate, Erin let out a chuckle and said;

 

“We’d absolutely love to come aboard.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, a chapter actually released on time?? What??? I was going to draw out the island chapter longer, but I found myself realizing that I just want the next two chapters to come as soon as possible, so I figured I'd deliver this condensed version and hope for the damn best.
> 
> Leave comments!!!


	25. Filmore, no more

 

The little boat teetered as they tried not to row too quickly. The last thing they wanted to do was attract suspicion from the brig offshore, and Erin remained infinitely thankful that Holtzmann had whipped up a sleep spell within seconds of her declaration to the sailors. They remained peacefully snuggled in the sand, and all of them had agreed to detach the lifeboats and send them to shore when they’d finalized their plan. 

 

Abby and Pat were checking over the pistols and swords they’d nicked from the sailors, and Kevin rowed the boat at an odd pace, but a pace nonetheless. 

 

Jillian kept rather quiet, nestled besides Erin as they worked out what they were going to do. Her nose pressed into Erin’s shoulder and the former merchant turned her head just so to kiss her forehead.

 

“So… do we throw Filmore off the boat?”

 

Erin smirked, “He was a shoddy business dealer and we knew it. We only went to him because we were desperate for cargo and he took advantage of it. Did you know he scammed us for three times what the silk was worth? We would’ve had to sell our ship in Havana to make up for the costs. The rest can have lifeboats, but he jumps.”

 

“Not to mention he insulted our intelligence and capabilities numerous times. Stuck up bastard,” Abigail muttered.

 

Mere thoughts of fresh food and drink overwhelmed her sense of integrity, but in that moment Erin asked herself why she couldn’t have what she wanted. 

 

Why shouldn’t she be surrounded by warm light and music and cheerfulness, even if it wasn’t earned by society’s expectations? She’d spent so long cleaning other people’s palaces, she deserved to live in her own, dammit! Perhaps she’d be taking someone else’s palace, but kings and queens ordered armies around all the time! What difference would it make if she did it instead?? 

 

Perchance the difference would be that she’d share the bounty with those she dearly loved, and she wouldn’t take more than she needed.

 

Save for Filmore’s property.

 

“Erin… I don’t know if I can… I haven’t fought with magic in a while… what if something goes wrong?” Jillian whispered.

 

The former merchant turned her head and took Jillian’s hand, running her thumb over lightly scarred knuckles and smiling with the warmth of a hearth. The zaffre hue of Holtzmann’s eyes pressed into her lungs and caused her to stop and take a breath, deeper and more powerful than the blue of the ocean… yet panicked like a colt’s. Erin tucked a strand of blonde hair behind an ear and lowered her voice that it might be shared solely between the two of them (Abigail and Pat were kind enough to pretend they weren’t listening). 

 

“You know what might make you feel better? Those men on board would be shaking in their boots to come across the dreaded Doctor Crimson…”

 

Jillian’s eyes… it wasn’t that they lit up but they certainly shined in mischief. A glimpse of her former self danced across her face and she took a deep breath. A bit of magic-speak mixed with German, and within the blink of an eye, Crimson was sitting besides Erin, still holding her hand. She gave him a kiss on the cheek and Pat shook her head.

 

“I don’t know how you do that so quickly, but it’s damn impressive.”

 

In a way, she missed his ruggedness. 

 

Crimson held a fierceness to him, the glint of firepower in his eyes that Jillian reserved for inventing spells. His hair was shorter and somehow coarser, and the shape of her lover’s nose was a… a different crooked? She supposed that, since Crimson had faced more battles than Jillian, he would need to look like he’d faced more battles. They both had a scar on the eyebrow… and she pressed a quick kiss to it for good luck, before giving him a hug. 

 

Funny… she used to think Crimson’s embrace was a different feel from Jillian’s… in the end… being held by the person she loved gave the same warmth. 

 

A candlelight and a spice and the small but mischievous gasp one takes when they drink a particularly hard liquor. The burn in the throat that is instantly replaced by a warmth in the chest― that was what this embrace felt like, and it didn’t change no matter which of the two was holding her.

 

She loved him and her and she would do anything for them both.

 

“Hoy there! Where’s Davis?”

 

“He’s here!” Pat shouted to the deck of the Columbia.

 

Thankfully Crimson used a spell on Kevin’s face to make it vaguely resemble the head sailor that they’d left on the island. The deckhand above them peered down again and shrugged, satisfied with the illusion as the Irishman confoundedly waved to him. 

 

“Alright, let’s get them up here!”

 

A rope ladder was thrown down and one by one they slowly climbed up it, ready to draw weapons when Erin gave the signal. She stepped onto the solid deck of a ship for the first time in a month and sighed in relief. The solid, polished wood beneath her feet creaked and groaned with the gentle rock of the ocean and she lost herself for a moment in relief.  

 

Crimson gave her a knowing look, and Erin turned towards the captain.

 

“Is Master Filmore aboard? We’d like to speak with him, and thank him for the rescue.”

 

The sailor narrowed his eyes, almost as though he saw through her ruse, and then nodded at his first mate, “You heard the lass, go on and fetch the man.”

 

He turned back to the crew, “We’re sorry that you had to go through all that. The Caribbean can be a cruel place, but you’re safe now. We can drop you off at Kingston if you like?”

 

With the charm that’d been carved into her by merchant parents, Erin gave the captain a wink, “That would be absolutely lovely. The first thing I’m going to do when I get there is hire a new crew― nothing personal, of course, but these men just don’t seem like the type for our line of work.”

 

The captain raised a brow, “What do you mean?”

 

In one swift stroke, Erin drew her sword, followed by the rest of her friends as they charged the sailors. Beside her, Crimson truly put on the show. He closed his eyes, and smoke began emitting from his coat. 

 

The damned pirate set himself on  _ fire _ , his jacket and his hands ablaze as he whispered spells under his breath to change the hues to a bright red. Sailors around him dropped their swords and backed away in fear at the mere glimpse of the devil before them. 

 

 

Crimson strutted down the ship, causing a part in the fighting, and spread fire across the deck. Sailors backed up against the railings to keep from burning yet Erin realized with a stifled laugh that yonder fire gave off no heat. ‘Twas a mere illusion!

 

His eyes glowed red as he shouted, “I would flee if I were you!”

 

That must’ve been the final straw, for the quivering sailors jumped, some with weapons in hand and others practically throwing their swords and pistols as they made for the lifeboats. Perhaps it was a trick of the magic, but Crimson appeared to grow in height, making himself as tall as a rearing stallion, and he climbed the mast to “set” the sails ablaze.

 

Even the ship’s captain pushed his crew towards the edge as Erin quickly snapped her sword forward and disarmed him with a laugh, losing herself a little in the thrill of piracy.

 

“WHAT’S GOING ON?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” an elderly Englishman’s voice shouted from the cabin. 

 

Erin turned to watch Harold Filmore stomping his way out of the cabin, and she bent down to pick up a fallen pistol, pointing it as his forehead just as he’d reached her.

 

“Master Filmore! What a surprise!”

 

“Who in the blazes.... Miss Gilbert? Why have you… what have you done?”

 

“What am I doing, I think you mean,” Erin smiled. “I think we’re done cheating innocent merchants out of their last pennies, and planting contraband in their boats, aren’t we? Rather irresponsible to go around making enemies, you know. ”

 

Filmore nervously spluttered, “It was nothing personal, I assure you! I couldn’t be found by Crimson, I’d be ruined!”

 

Just then, Erin’s best friend dropped to the ground, still covered in flamed. Filmore let out a whimper as Doctor Crimson towered over him, drawing sword and pointing it at the man’s chin. 

 

“I really must ask what you did with ‘ze map,” Kenneth growled, a smile at the corner of his lips. 

 

“The map to the Lucayan tomb! Of course! I don’t have it! I put it in the cargo that I sold to Ms. Gilbert to get rid of it! Unless you sold it, the map is in the Aphrodite! I swear!”

 

“That’s impossible!” Crimson snarled, “We searched those crates top to bottom and found nothing!”

 

Filmore cowered beneath the smoldering pirate, desperate to say anything that might save his skin. Erin cast a quick glance to Crimson, who harbored an irritated expression on his face at the missing status of the map he’d sunken Erin’s old schooner for.  He nodded at the railing and muttered, in a gravely German accent, the word “jump”. The merchant hastily obeyed, eager to rid himself of the company; even if it meant losing his ship. With the owner overboard and the crew quickly swimming and rowing to the island that Erin and her friends had been marooned on, the ship became theirs.

 

The illusion of flames quickly melted away, the smoke practically rolling off the ship as Erin put her scavenged weapons away. 

 

“Beckman, Pat, set us a course for Kingston. Abby and I will start on the rigging. Kenneth, can you fetch us some supplies?” 

 

“Aye! Wish you’d kept some of them as crew, but they looked a little soft, didn’t they?” Pat laughed, walking up to the helm.

 

“Ought we toss supplies overboard for them?”

 

Abigail sighed, “Very well… we’re not so heartless as to steal  _ everything  _ they owned.” 

  
  


  


  
  


Erin loved sailing at night; it had been one of her favorite things to do before they’d been so consumed with the task of chasing the Kraken and Rowan that they couldn’t possibly dally around like this. She slowly walked across the deck, nodding at Kevin at the helm. At least the boy could steer in one direction, nevermind that he kept untying and retying knots that wouldn’t even affect the sails. 

 

The Columbia was a decent sized brig, smaller than the Falcon but larger than the Aphrodite. It could be managed by the five of them until they found a new crew… but Erin felt as though it out have a new name. Something more fitting of the five of them― not to mention the bounty that would be on their heads were the English Navy to recognize this as a stolen ship.

 

A cold breeze, rare as it was in their region, swept over the waves and onto the deck. Erin huddled her arms to her stomach but refused to budge. 

 

Something gentle rested on her shoulders, and she smiled, leaning back into Jillian and tugging the coat around both of them.

 

“Thank you for… giving me encouragement today. It felt like I was in control for the first time in… months, really. Not to say I can’t do what Crimson can as a woman… but seeing the sailors recognize him gave me a feeling of pride that I hadn’t known,” Jillian muttered. “I want to start again pirating as Holtzmann, though. Let them fear me as I am, rather than as I could be. You know… save Crimson for the special occasions.”

 

Erin turned the two of them that they might sit against the railing, and felt a hand rest on her side. She glanced into Jillian’s piercingly blue eyes and found the woman she’d been missing.

 

“I’m glad your back. It would be hard to navigate this boat without a proper captain.”

 

Jillian was lost in thought for a moment, staring up at the stars. Erin found herself remembering the night when Crimson had shown her magical constellations and could have sworn that the ones above them now were an entirely different set. 

 

“‘Zat was something I was thinking about while the others were fighting beside us. ‘Zey are just as talented pirates as myself or Beckman. We couldn’t have pulled this off without them. Without you.”

 

“What are you trying to say?”  

 

“Why should a boat have only one captain? If we’re going to go into more fights against Rowan, we should go as equals. All of us, commanding this boat.”

 

Erin smiled, “Captains Yates, Tolan, and Beckman has a bit of a ring to it.”

 

“Captain Gilbert, even more so.”

 

“Really?”

 

Jillian’s face was lit up in pride and love, and Erin knew. 

 

She knew that it was the right moment.

 

And when their lips finally met together, beneath magical stars, she felt such happiness knowing that Jillian had thought it would be the right moment as well. 

 

 

Without breaking the kiss, Erin pressed against Jillian, wanting to show her how much she wanted this. Holtzmann let out a whimper and raised a hand to thread long, calloused fingers through Erin’s hair. Teeth cautiously nipped at her lip― testing the waters― and she pushed her tongue into Holtzmann’s mouth in response, wanting everything the pirate could give her. The coat around both their shoulders fell to their waists, but the last thing Erin felt in this moment was cold. 

 

Holtzmann tasted like music, or perhaps that was the symphony inside of Erin’s heart, causing a cacophony at the notion that she’d finally kissed the woman she loved properly, without any dangers nor interruptions to stop them.

 

A groan in the back of someone’s throat as Erin kissed her again, losing herself in the taste and warmth. In the texture.

 

She felt saltwater creep into her mouth, and pulled away to find Jillian crying. 

 

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry,” the pirate said with a smile, wiping away the tears. “Pirates aren’t supposed to cry.”

 

“They can when they’re ready to.”

 

What Erin said had been enough for Jillian to lunge forward and sob into Erin’s neck. The markswoman held her, letting Holtzmann finally feel the grief and pain at having lost the Hallowed Falcon, and the crew that’d been so relentlessly loyal to her. Erin’s shirt stained but it only prompted her to hold onto Jillian tighter.

 

“It’s okay. We’re safe now.”

 

Jillian sniffed, her voice still muffled by Erin’s shoulder as she replied, “I know.”

 

Erin pulled out of the embrace and gave Jillian another kiss, firmer and with a finality. The day was done, and they needed their sleep. Goodness knows that after spending a month out on that island, they hadn’t dreamt properly in so long. She took her love’s hand and walked towards Filmore’s cabin― now their cabin, and opened the door.

 

The man had good taste in decorating, at least. Soft, velvety couches arranged to make a sitting area, a proper dining area with a long mahogany table, and through the curtains they found a king-sized bed with soft silken sheets that Erin pulled Holtzmann into.

 

There was no hesitation when their limbs tangled together, and Erin reached out to pull Holtzmann’s hair out of its usual braid and bun combo. She ran her fingers through soft blonde locks and pressed a kiss to Holtzmann’s forehead.

 

“Peace, Jillian. We can sleep now.”

 

Holtzmann smiled and turned Erin so that her back was to the younger woman’s chest. She felt a muscular arm pull her closer and relaxed into the warmth. Within minutes, the both of them drifted off to the rocking of the ship― the last thing Erin remembering was the pulse in Holtzmann’s wrist gently setting a rhythm that matched the singing in Erin’s heart. 

 

All was at peace.  

  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Another one bites the dust! At this point, I'm starting to think that Jillian turning into Crimson is not only a metaphor for exploring genderqueer identities, but also a metaphor for drag. Let me know what you think, I love both my pirate children equally!
> 
> Leave comments, I'm so sorry that this chapter took so long! (Again...)

**Author's Note:**

> Art is by Rootproxy. I'll be updating this once a week (I'm so sorry) to pace myself.


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